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CHICAGO: MORRILL, HIGGINS 6: CO. 


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“kill me, fire!” cried lakhmi. P. 102, 


♦ 

THE CHATEAU DE LA RAGE 

(THE CHATEAU OF THE MAD DOG) 



TRANSLATED BY 


H. O. COOKE 

I 



. iur* ,,i'3 1OT3 / 


CHICAGO 

MORRILL, HIGGINS & CQr 



Copyright 1898 
Morrill, Higoins & Co. 


W. B. CoNKEY Company, Printers and Binders. 


CONTENTS. 


PART 1 . PROLOGUE. 

The Mysterious Chateau 7 

PART I. 

THE JAGUAR HUNT. 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Alviella Family 43 

II. The Beautiful Lakhmi 51 

III. Dominique 58 

IV. The Oath 67 

V. The Jealous Master 77 

VI. The Taya 86 

VII. The Human Feast 98 

PART II. 

A HUSBAND’S VENGEANCE. 

I. A Daughter to Marry 103 

II. A Fortune Hunter 112 

III. The Quarrel 120 

IV. The Insult 136 

V. The Marquis’ Secret 147 

VI. A Singular Bargain 153 

VII. The Spy 169 


PAGE CHAPTER 

VIIL The Dual i8i 

IX. The House at Neuilly 195 

X. Love Fever 209 

XL Clotilde’s Test 230 

XII. The Departure 240 

XIII. Where Durouget Becomes Impene- 

trable 252 

XIV. Some Indsipensable Explanations. . . 259 

XV. The Pursuit 269 

XVI. A Slap in the Face 282 

XVII. Two Turtle Doves 293 

XVIII. A Representation for the Benefit 

OF THE Poor 305 

XIX. The Third Accomplice 314 

XX. The Anonymous Letters 326 

XXL Hypnotism 342 

XXII. Demonio 352 

XXIII. After the Vengeance . . 391 

XXIV. Living to Kill 378 

XXV. Conclusion 388 


THE CHATEAU DE LA RAGE 

PROLOGUE. 

THE MYSTERIOUS CHATEAU. 

Within a stone’s throw of La Frilliere, almost on 
the highest point of a verdant hill in Touraine, 
well named the garden of France, stands, near the 
Amboise road, a small chateau which had for 
many years all its gates and doors carefully barred 
against intruders. 

Far from having any resemblance to the legend- 
ary manor of which the aspect alone conveys the 
idea of mystery and gloom, this chateau, though 
bearing every evidence of neglect and decay, still 
maintained its native and inviting beauty, very at- 
tractive to the eyes of the traveler. 

What impressed strangers most, was the eleva- 
ted position of this lonely dwelling, but if, instead 
of keeping to the high road, they had followed the 
winding avenue leading up to this mysterious habi- 
7 


8 


THE MYSTERIOUS CHATEAU 


tation, and on arriving at the old rusty gate had 
gazed curiously within, a very cursory glance would 
have enabled the observer to decide that no human 
being had passed the threshold for some consider- 
able time. 

In 187 — at the season when all the world is 
journeying towards watering places or the seaside, 
I followed the general example, and chance con- 
ducting me to the avenue leading to the little old 
chateau. I bravely asceaded it, for the temperature 
rendered the effort rather painful, and in a few 
minutes found myself at the top. 

A secret presentiment told me that I was on the 
threshold of a mystery. It was the month of Au- 
gust and the day was oppressively warm, but com- 
pletely sheltered by the trees lining the avenue, I 
luxuriated in the freshness of their shade, while 
pursuing my investigations. 

My surprise increased at every step. A thou- 
sand wild ideas crossed my brain. Trying to take 
a practical view of things, my first thought was to 
return to La Frilliere in order to question one of 
the inhabitants, but the situation of the chateau 
led me^to believe that the extremity of the park, 
opposite to the spot where I now stood, ought to 
border the high road. 


THE MYSTERIOUS CHATEAU 


9 


I therefore decided to continue my fatiguing 
ascent, and in about twenty minutes time found 
that I had not been mistaken and that I was only 
a few steps from the road leading to Vouvray, 
whose small white houses I could plainly distin- 
guish through the foliage. There I stopped, for 
two reasons; the first, the most imperative, to 
recover breath; the second, the most attractive, to 
examine a worm-eaten door which I had just dis- 
covered. I advanced toward it. 

The lock, red with rust, possessed a very respect- 
able bolt, strongly wedged into the stone. I in- 
stinctively leaned against this stone with my full 
weight. One of the screws became loosened under 
my pressure, dropped out, and rolled on the ground 
at my feet. Without pausing to reflect, I took my 
knife and by its aid soon found means for the 
others to follow the example of the first. The 
lock itself fell with the last screw. I hesitated a 
moment, then, curiosity getting the better of my 
scruples, and strong in the knowledge that I was 
there simply as a discoverer, I pushed the door 
with my full strength. It slowly yielded. The 
rust on its hinges and the long grass inside prevent- 
ed it opening easily, but I redoubled my efforts, 
resolved to persevere in my investigations to the 
end. 


lO THE MYSTERIOUS CHATEAU 

A great disappointment met me on my entrance. 
I had counted on being able to gain a complete 
view of the castle at a glance, and instead, found 
myself in a narrow pathway bordered by thickly 
planted trees, which limited my view to a few 
yards. I pushed my way through a dense thicket 
as quickly as the interlacing branches permitted. 
An English garden, which must at one time have 
been very beautiful was soon disclosed to view, but 
which, like the grounds I had just forced my way 
through, lay completely neglected. No trace of 
path or turf was visible. A thick growth of weeds 
covered the entire space, and at the far end could 
be discerned the turrets of the chateau. 

I carefully examined the surroundings; no traces 
of steps could be discovered, no index that any 
human being had penetrated to this place for many 
years. A group of weeping willows attracted my 
attention. I directed my steps towards it ; the 
ground was damper here than where I had been 
exploring. An adder glided from under the moss 
at my approach. Sinister omen. 

I put aside the hanging branches and beheld a 
large square tomb-stone. I advanced and read, 
deeply engraved in the center, these two words: 

Clotilde—Sanchez. 


THE MYSTERIOUS CHATEAU 


II 


Underneath was a death’s head. 

Not a date, not one word of adieu or of regret 
was on this tomb, not even the three sacramental 
letters R. J. P., which generally adorn the most 
humble of crosses. 

Who then had been buried there Who reposed 
in this gloomy grave on which the sun was never 
to shine Who were these two, lying together 
there, for whom no better sepulchre had been found 
than a corner of this enclosed park, where even 
nature seemed to redouble her efforts to bury for 
ever their very memory under its bright adornment, 
like the Cyprus on the tomb of Willis. 

Neither Clotilde nor Sanchez were ordinary 
names. There was an aristocratic flavor in these 
two names which added to the interest they had 
already awakened within me. 

I had discovered the retreat of the sphynx, and 
could place my finger on the enigma without find- 
ing the word, with my eyes fixed on the fifteen 
letters composing the two names — Clotilde, San- 
chez — I invoked each of them as if they could arise 
and answer me. 

At last I made an effort and in the hope that the 
interior of the chateau might lead to some further 
information, I turned my steps in its direction. 


12 


THE MYSTERIOUS CHATEAU 


Feeling for the steps leading to the entrance 
under the thick carpet of moss, leaves, and branches 
which covered them, I at last succeeded in arriving 
at the door. 

All was still within. 

I left this door as I had left the principal en- 
trance on the avenue, and going to the side of the 
house, came to the windows on the ground floor 
through which I could have examined at ease the 
interior of the room, if the windows had not been 
furnished with solid shutters covered, in their turn, 
by a heavy growth of ivy. 

Removing the smaller branches of the gigantic 
parasite, I examined the shutters carefully, the 
existence of which greatly added to my curiosity, 
and I was not long in discovering one carelessly 
closed, and only held in its place by a thin branch 
of a tree leaning against it. 

I removed this obstacle, opened the shutter and 
admitted the daylight into the interior. I saw 
across the dust-stained panes, a room furnished 
with sombre colored hangings. This was all I 
could distinguish at first, but I had gone too far to 
stop. Dipping my handkerchief in a small pool of 
water which the hot August sun had not altogether 
dried up, I rubbed it against the window and could 


THE MYSTERIOUS CHATEAU 


13 


not resist a cry of dismay, for the glass, around 
which the putty, rendered dry and useless by the 
wear of time, gave way under my pressure and fell 
on the floor in a thousand pieces. To pass my 
hand through the opening, turn the fastener, which 
yielded more readily than I expected, to open the 
window and jump into the room, was the work of 
an instant. 

I found myself in a bedroom; everything was in 
perfect order; on the walls hung weapons and some 
pictures, a soft thick carpet covered the floor, the 
whole surroundings conveying the impression of a 
rigid severity keeping in check a spirit of luxury 
and good taste. 

Such was the first impression conveyed to my 
mind. Evidently this had been a man’s room, a 
few books still adorned an etagere. 

Suddenly I felt a slight breeze pass across my 
face. 

It was a soft fresh current of air, a perfumed 
kiss from the breeze without. 

Looking around to see where this breeze came 
from, I remarked a closed window in which one of 
the panes had been broken. 

The hole made in the glass must have been 
caused by a blow from some hard substance, and 


14 


THE MYSTERIOUS CHATEAU 


the blow could not have been given from the out- 
side, as some of the glass still laid on the carpet. 

To one of the sharp points of the jagged break- 
age hung a small piece of skin, which having re- 
moved I examined with great care. It was the 
finger of a glove once white, but now blackened by 
time, upon which were embroidered some small 
cabalistic signs in black and red. 

The finger of the glove was small, and must at 
one time have fitted a woman’s hand. 

Decidedly, everything was very strange in this 
deserte*d place. 

Continuing my researches, I perceived a candle- 
stick on a small buhl table. This was a valuable 
discovery for me. 

Determined to search the chateau thoroughly and 
not being desirous of continuing my struggles with 
the closed shutters, I drew from my pocket the box 
of wax matches which I always carried with me, 
and soon succeeded in lighting the candle. 

Holding the light up, I advanced towards an 
alcove in which was stationed a four post bed; in 
the curtain I discovered a place where a rent had 
been made. 

This was between the two posts of the bed, a 
little higher than the head. 


THE MYSTERIOUS CHATEAU 


15 


I held the light nearer and was horrified to dis- 
cover that the tear had been made by a bullet fired 
from below and glancing upwards, consequently, it 
must have come from a weapon held by someone 
lying on the bed. 

The ball had lodged itself deeply in the stone, 
but by scraping with my knife and enlarging the 
cavity, I succeeded in removing it. The bullet was 
stained with blood; it must have then passed 
through some human body before lodging there, 
and considering the position of the projectile with 
regard to the bed, this part of the human body 
must have been the head. 

In fact, on a closer examination I found on the 
roughened edges of the hole made by the ball, some 
short black hair, then guiding the light all around 
the spot I remarked several stains on the wall with 
which the curtains also were smeared. 

These sinister details left no doubt on my mind. 
Some man had blown out his brains on this bed. 

I had seen enough. I opened a door which led 
into a spacious hall, conducting me to a large room 
luxuriously furnished and which I concluded must 
be the salon of the chateau. 

The principal piece of furniture in this room was 
an Erard grand piano in a case of carved ebony. 


1 6 THE MYSTERIOUS CHATEAU 

I opened it ; but not for the world would I have 
touched the keys. Yet there was nothing strange 
about the instrument, but it seemed to me that at 
the slightest touch it would give forth a sound of 
grief, a lamentable cry of a disastrous past. I 
respected the silence which surrounded it. 

I went back to the hall and began to ascend the 
staircase. 

At the second floor the candle was no longer of 
any use to me. Several attics, evidently intended 
for the use of servants, opened off this landing. 
From these rose the turrets. The first was only 
a store-room for fruits, without furniture or orna- 
ment of any kind. The second consisted of a very 
small bedroom, with a work-room adjoining it. 

This part, separated from the main portion of 
the dwelling, offered a great contrast to the 
other parts of the chateau. The bedstead was of 
iron and almost shabby in its simplicity. An array 
of hunting weapons occupied the mantel-shelf; in 
the place generally occupied by the mirror, nu- 
merous pipes were hung up separately, or ranged in 
racks fastened to the wall, revealed the manly and 
rustic taste of the last occupant of the room. 
Some hunting sketches from the timid hare to the 
fierce tiger of the jungles completed the decora- 
tions. 


THE MYSTERIOUS CHATEAU 


17 


I did not waste much time in this turret; this 
was not what I was looking for. What I was burn- 
ing to discover was the bed-chamber of Clotilde, 
her private sanctuary. 

I came upon it on the first landing, a door, 
which I had failed to notice on coming up stairs, 
led to it. 

What a difference between it and the one I had 
just gained entrance to! It was as gay and bright 
as the other was sombre and gloomy. The hang- 
ings were of light silk of an eastern design, harmo- 
nizing exquisitely with the rest of the furniture, and 
each detail revealed the woman of fashion, beauti- 
ful and refined, as the corolla of a flower betrays 
its perfume. 

The bed and its surroundings represented the 
tragic side. 

No trace of suicide existed here, however, but 
simply that of death; a white sheet completely 
covering the bed. 

The bolster without pillows, occupied the upper 
part. At the foot a yellow wax candle had burnt 
out in the large brass candlestick holding it. 

The furniture had been removed to the other 
part of the room, leaving a large space free around 
the bed. 


1 8 THE MYSTERIOUS CHATEAU 

I picked up a hammer and some nails which had 
been left forgotten on the carpet. They were 
heavy, and such as are used for nailing up coffins. 

I left the room hastily, a prey to an emotion 
which may be easily conceived. 

It was time to take my departure. 

I closed the shutter I had opened, and crossing 
the park, soon found myself at the little worm- 
eaten door, though not without throwing a last 
backward glance at the tumulous stone with its 
inscription rendered all the more eloquent by its 
laconism. 

I replaced the lock as well as I could and went 
on my way. 

A few moments later and I was walking on the 
road to Vouvray. 

A little boy of ten or twelve years of age, was 
playing at a farm door. 

Faithful to the promise I had made myself to 
question the first person I met after leaving the 
chateau I called to the child. He raised his clear 
bright eyes to mine and came up quickly, 

“What is it. Sir,” he asked. 

“You belong to this neighborhood?” 

“Yes, Sir, I have never left it.” 

“Whose chateau is that?” I demanded, pointing 


THE MYSTERIOUS CHATEAU 


19 


upwards to the spot from which I had just de- 
scended. 

At this question the boy’s cheeks paled. 

“That chateau?” he repeated, designating in his 
turn the topmost ridge of the mountain. 

“Yes, do you know anything about it?” 

“Yes, Sir, I do.” 

“Very well, then, speak.” 

The boy came close up to me and lowering his 
voice, whispered: 

“It is the house of the Mad Dog!” said he. 

This name startled me. I had never listened to 
a more sinister denomination. 

“What did you say?” I asked, thinking I could 
not have heard aright. 

“The house of the Mad Dog,” he repeated. 

“I understand now.” 

“And do you know how the place got this 
name?” I pursued after a short silence. 

“No.” 

“To whom does it belong?” 

“I do not know. All I do know is that it has 
been shut up for a long time past, and that no one 
would dare to go there.” 

“Do they believe that the place is haunted, 
then? Has any one seen the ghost?” 

2E 


20 


THE MYSTERIOUS CHATEAU 


“No but just as good as if they did, for at mid- 
night you can hear howls coming from the 
chateau.” 

“The ghost.?” 

“Yes, the ghost, the mad dog. Gomez’s dog.” 
“Is that the name of the ghost.?” 

“Yes sir.” 

I had heard enough. 


PART IL 


THE KEY, THE LETTER AND THE HAND. 

My friend Dupuys, with whom I was passing a 
few days, a most agreeable companion, good 
sportsman and a successful lawyer, occupied a 
bright pleasant house on the road to Ambroise, 
behind which stretched a large garden, the lawn 
serving as an admirable playground for his two 
sons, Auguste and Edward. 

When I arrived at the lower hall, which served 
both as dining and ante-room, and was exclusively 
reserved for the better class of my friend’s clients, 
all the family were already seated at table; I was 
welcomed with a shout gayly addressed to me by 
Dupuys and the others. 

“Late as usual, dawdler,” said the former. 

“You must excuse us,” said his wife with a gra- 
cious smile. “My husband would not allow us to 
wait any longer than a quarter of an hour and din- 
ner had to be served.” 

“He was quite right and you also, madame,” I 
21 


22 THE KEY, THE LETTER AND THE HAND 

replied. “I am going to take this place between 
Edward and his brother. I promise to make up 
for lost time, for I am simply starving.” 

“Where have you been.^” asked Dupuys. 

“Ah! that is a long story! I must tell you all 
about it.” 

“I began to think you had lost your way.” 

“No, but I am fond of exploring. Ah! so you 
have ghosts in this part of the country 

“I know now what you have got to tell me. 
You have been to Vouvray.^*” 

“Exactly.” 

“And they told you about Gomez’s dog.^” 

“Yes, but that was not all. I saw the chateau!” 

“That is not a difficult matter, perched up on 
that height it is hardly possible not to see it.” 

“I am not alluding to the exterior.” 

“What do you mean.^” 

“Why the interior of course!” — watching for the 
effect which I intended to produce. 

It was even greater than I expected. 

“The interior.^” exclaimed Dupuys, “you have 
seen the interior of the Chateau de la Rage? what 
induced you to do such a thing?” 

I then favored him with a detailed account of my 
excursion. From time to time Dupuys interrupted 
me with such exclamatiop.s as; 


THE KEY, THE LETTER AND THE HAND 2 $ 


“Just so! Yes, it must be so. 

“You are acquainted with the place?” I asked. 

“Yes”, he replied. 

“Very well, it is your turn now. I have de- 
scribed the place, now you can relate the scenes 
which took place there.” 

“You are fortunate in preferring your request to- 
day,for yesterday I could not have satisfied your 
very natural curiosity.” 

“What was the objection?” 

“I was bound by an oath, but to-day I am free, 
look, read.” 

And he held a black-edged letter out to me. 

I opened it and read: 

“You are requested to attend the funeral rites of 
Fernande Isabella Marie de Burgos, Marchioness 
de Alviella, who died at her residence, rue de 
rUniversite. The funeral will take place at twelve 
o’clock precisely at the church of St. Thomas 
d’Aquin. 

“From M. Foucault, notary af!d executor of the 
deceased.” 

“What a singular way of announcing a death,” 
I said, after reading it. 

“Is it not?” 

“But,” I added, “what connection is there 


24 THE KEY, THE LETTER AND THE HAND 

s 

between this announcement and the Chateau de 
la Rage?’’ 

“It belonged to the Marchioness d'Alviella.” 

“But her name is not Clotilde,” I observed, lay- 
ing my finger on the Christian names enumerated 
in the letter. 

“It was her daughter-in-law who bore that 
name.” 

“And Sanchez?” 

“Was Clotilde's husband.” • 

“Then he was the son of the marchioness?” 

“Precisely.” 

As he said this, Dupuys got up, opened a draw- 
er, and returned with three objects which he laid 
on the table; a key, a letter and something more 
voluminous wrapped up in an old paper for which 
I held out my hand. 

“Presently,” said my host, stopping me. “Let 
us proceed in order. In the first place, look at 
this, it is the key of the chateau.” 

“How did it cdhie into your hands?” 

“I sold the property to Madame d’ Alviella 
thirteen years ago, but wait, read this, before I 
say anything more.” 

He took a letter from the table and handed it to 
me. It was addressed to Dupuys and signed by 


tHE KEY, tHE LETTER AND THE HAND 2$ 

Monsieur Foucault, the executor of the Marchion- 
ess, who had written to his brother lawyer as fol- 
lows: 

My dear Dupuys: — 

“It is now almost ten years since the Marchioness 
d’Alviella, my honored client, placed in your hands 
the key of the gate of the property, sold by you to 
her three years before through my agency, at the 
same time begging you to await her orders either 
to demolish or wall in the chateau. 

“On leaving Touraine, where the melancholy event 
which you know of demanded her presence, the 
marchioness had resolved to have the chateau 
pulled down and to construct in its place a simple 
Mausoleum, which hidden among the trees of the 
hill, would help to bury in oblivion the scene of the 
tragedy, while still consecrating the memory of the 
unhappy victims. This project was worthy both 
of a mother and a Christian. 

“Madame hoped that time would mitigate her 
sorrow and give her strength to accomplish her 
object and you would have been entrusted to see 
that her directions were attended to, but instead 
of abating, the settled grief of the marchioness 
seemed to become more poignant from day to day. 

“Now that the doctors have given up all hope. 


26 THE KEY, THE LETTER AND THE HAND 

and my client feels that her end is near, she has 
revealed the horrible history of what occurred in 
Touraine. I need not tell you that this revelation 
was made to me under the seal of secrecy. 

^Fearing to revive people’s memory, the mar- 
chioness has modified her first plans and has begged 
me to write requesting you to see the following 
directions put into execution, but only after her 
death. 

“Then as soon as you are made acquainted with 
the death of the Marchioness d’Alviella, you will 
have the chateau completely walled in. 

“Not doubting but that you will agree to accept 
this charge, I send you, in the name of the mar- 
chioness the sum of eighteen thousand francs, 
which you will dispose of in carrying out her 
instructions, retaining the balance for payment of 
your own services. 

“Accept, my dear Dupuys, etc.” 

“Why have you not put Madame d’Alviella’s 
orders into execution I asked Dupuys, when I 
had finished the perusal of the letter. 

“Because,” he replied, “although it is more than 
six months since I received the letter the Mar- 
chioness died only three days ago.” 

“Of course; I had forgotten the other letter.” 


THE KEY, THE LETTER AND THE HAND 2/ 

‘‘Tomorrow I shall give the necessary orders, 
resumed Dupuys, “You can boast of being the only 
one who has ever visited the chateau since the 
marchioness came here accompanied by Gomez, 
and shut it up with her own hands and left me 
the key.” 

“But how, having possession of this key, were 
you never tempted to visit the chateau 

“The Marchioness, when she handed it to me, 
made me promise not to do so. And now, you can 
open this parcel,” added Dupuys, pointing to the 
third object which he had left on the table. 

I did not wait to be told a second time. Judge 
of my surprise when on removing the wrapper, I 
saw that it contained a wooden hand with a 
white glove, a woman’s hand, evidently, for a gold 
bracelet still encircled the wrist, and the glove was 
stamped with the same cabalistic signs which I had 
noticed on the torn finger I had found in Sanchez’s 
room. 

This hand was most artistically made and mould- 
ed after nature. 

“What is the meaning of this”.*^ I asked of 
Dupuys. 

“A terrible souvenir.” 

“Well.?” 


28 THE KEY, THE LETTER AND THE HAND 

“Ah! my dear fellow, this lamentable story is as 
strange as it is pitiful. Listen, and I will tell you 
the whole story, as far as I know.” 

And Dupuys told me as follows. 


PART III. 


THE TWO TRAVELERS. 

About ten years ago, eight days before the visit 
of Madame d'Alvilla, a carriage stopped at the 
door of this house one night in autumn. 

Awakened by the sound of the bells on the har- 
ness of the horses, I opened the window of my 
room and saw a man descend from the carriage, 
who, on perceiving me, called out, 

“Whoever you may be I implore you to open!” 

“Who are you?” I asked him. 

“That is of no consequence, we will pay hand- 
somely for your hospitality, open! a woman's life 
is at stake! in the name of Heaven open quickly!” 

These last words decided me. 

“Ah! thank you,” said the stranger, “let me beg 
of you to hasten.” 

My wife had already risen and was dressing 
quickly, for she could not deny herself the pleasure 
of rendering service to one in need, and a few 
moments afterward, aided by the driver, we 
29 


30 


THE TWO TRAVELERS 


placed on a mattress which we quickly arranged 
for her in this very room, a young woman seriously 
wounded, if one could judge from the quantity of 
blood which flowed from her side. 

Her costume was singular, being composed of a 
long black velvet dress, with a border of different 
colored silks, all studded with cabalistic signs 
embroidered in gold. 

Now that the wounded stranger was installed, I 
had time to examine the people whom I had just 
received. The young woman was marvelously 
beautiful. She had not fainted and seemed to 
bear her sufferings with great courage, for a strange 
smile lingered on her lips. The man, who 
appeared to be about thirty or thirty-five years of 
age, had regular features, a refined voice and a 
look of unmistakable distinction. 

“How do you feel.^^” he asked his companion. 

“I am thirsty. Can I have something to drink.?” 

I poured a little cordial which my wife had 
brought down in a glass and gave it to her. 

The poor sufferer drank greedily. 

“Are you better.?” demanded her companion. 

“I feel almost well now.” 

“Yet you speak with an effort. Raise your head 
and I will arrange another pillow for you. The 
blood might choke you.” 


THE TWO TRAVELERS 


31 


“No, not the blood, but joy!” 

This strange answer upset all my conjectures. 
For some minutes I had been trying to decide 
what kind of conduct I ought to adopt. Evidently 
a crime had been committed. The care lavished 
on the victim by her companion banished all sus- 
picions regarding him from my mind. I frankly 
asked the question. 

“Who gave you this frightful wound, madame.^” 

She looked at me for some seconds without 
replying and then in a steady voice replied, 

“Myself.” 

Then, as if in denial of this strange affirmation, 
she added, 

“Send for a doctor. ... I do not want to die 
yet.” 

I gave the driver directions to go for Doctor 
Caron, and he set off at full speed. 

“Is the doctor you have sent for clever demand- 
ed the wounded woman. 

“Very clever, madame.” 

“If he can help to keep me alive three months 
longer, I will pay him as much a minute as he 
would gain in a year.” 

This phrase proved to me that she must be the 
possessor of an immense fortune. Another thing 


32 


THE TWO TRAVELERS 


surprised me. I could not define the connection 
existing between the two travelers. The man did 
not treat the sufferer either as sister, lover or 
friend. His appearance proved to me that he was 
at least, her equal. He took a lively interest in all 
that was happening. I even saw traces of emo- 
tion on his features, which he could not altogether 
disguise; but this emotion did not seem to proceed 
from actual affection. While my wife was assist- 
ing the stranger to partake of a second drink, he 
drew me aside. 

“One word, if you please.^ Tell me, sir, is there 
a lawyer in this place 

“I am one.” 

“What! You are.^ . . A lawyer. I will 

require your services to-night.” 

“My time is at your disposal.” 

“We will speak, then, later on. Allow me, in 
the meantime, to ask you one question, and 
promise that you will answer me frankly.” 

“I promise.” 

“Were you not thinking of informing the author- 
ities of what is taking place here ?” 

“I was thinking of it, I confess, for I place no 
faith in this pretended attempt at suicide.” 

“Well! I implore you in the name of my com- 


THE TWO TRAVELERS 


33 


panion, to do nothing. I will be frank with you. 
She did not wound herself, but her would-be 
murderer only did an act of justice. I give you 
my word of honor. Any enquiry would only detain 
us in this neighborhood. You can remain silent 
without compromising yourself in any way.” 

I reflected a few minutes, the stranger's air of sin- 
cerity decided me. “Well?” he said, “if the doctor 
consents to remain silent, so will I. We will 
reward your silence handsomely, not that it is of 
such very great importance to us, but because 
different conduct on your part would detain us here, 
and my companion is anxious to sail from Mar- 
seilles in eight days.” 

“In her present condition?” 

“It is her wish, and she is accustomed to having 
her wishes carried into effect.” 

“I promise you again, that if Monsieur Caron, 
the doctor, consents to remain silent, I shall do 
so likewise, but I do not want any reward.” 

“Not for yourself; perhaps but will you refuse it 
for your poor — ” 

“Yes, for should I accept it, I would have to 
disclose everything, and I have just promised 
silence.” 

“You are a good, kind-hearted man, and I will 


34 


THE TWO TRAVELERS 


adopt some means ot avoiding your scruples.” 

At this moment the wounded woman called to 
him. 

‘‘Monsieur George,” she said, “help madame to 
turn me round a little, this position fatigues me.” 

I went with him to aid in granting this request, 
and could not refrain from uttering a cry of horror. 

“Ah! good God! your arm is broken!” 

For the woman’s right arm was completely bent 
back from the elbow in a position which could only 
have resulted from a serious fracture. 

But my exclamation had no effect on the stran- 
gers. 

“That is nothing,” said George. 

“Take a knife and cut off all these fastenings,” 
said the young woman quietly. 

George obeyed and after having slit up the 
velvet sleeve, cut the ligatures which fastened it 
to the shoulder blade and ended by entirely remov- 
ing the false forearm, which he laid on the table 
saying: 

“It is broken.” 

“It must have happened when I fell,” replied the 
other simply. 

I looked at this marvel of surgical art, so skill- 
fully made that neither I nor my wife had remarked 


THE TWO TRAVELERS 


35 


that the stranger was maimed, and astonishment 
succeeded admiration on seeing that the false hand 
was covered with a white glove covered with cabal- 
istic signs. One of the fingers of the glove was 
torn and showed the wood underneath. That 
hand, my dear fellow is the one you are now hold- 
ing in yours. 

“And here is the finger in question,” I interrup- 
ted, holding up to Dupuys the piece of a glove I 
had found in Sanchez’s room, and which I had 
forgotten to mention when describing my excursion. 

“Where did you discover that?” he asked me. 

“At the chateau. The stranger must have been 
a sorceress,” I said to Dupuys, “or at least she 
wished to appear as one.” 

“Not at all, but let me continue:” 

“I was examining,” continued the lawyer, “with 
as much attention as you did a moment ago, this 
singular glove, when the doctor arrived. He 
entered the room with the air of a man who under- 
stood his busines and knew the value of time, and 
immediately proceeded to examine his new patient’s 
wound. 

Our complete silence questioned him. 

“It is serious,” he muttered after a few moments. 

“Tell me all you dread, doctor,” said the wound- 

8E 


36 


THE TWO TRAVELERS 


ed woman, “I am not afraid, so you may speak 
plainly to me.” 

Caron’s simplicity is only to be equaled by his 
skill. Instead of veiling his answer in abstruse tech- 
nicalities which would have conveyed nothing to 
the sufferer he said: “I cannot bind myself, 
madame, to effect a cure, and I would be compelled 
to regard it as a miracle if such a thing happened.” 

“I understand doctor, my wound is mortal,” she 
answered calmly. 

“Madame,” replied Caron, hesitating in spite of 
this unnatural stoicism. 

“Answer if you please.” 

“Well then, yes!” 

“So much the better,! wish to die. I have noth- 
ing more to do here.” 

Her companion seemed to understand. My wife, 
Caron and I exchanged looks of astonishment. 

“What I wish to know is this, doctor,” continued 
the wounded woman, “how much time can you 
give me to live.? Can you tell me.?” 

“I can at least say what is probable ” 

“And what time do you assign for my death.?” 

“Three months.” The woman’s face bright- 
ened, a smile broke on her pale lips and her eyes 
flashed. 


THE TWO TRAVELERS 


i 

37 


“I shall be able to die over there, then,^’ she said. 
“Thank you, doctor.^' 

While answering these questions Caron was 
busily occupied in binding up the wound. 

“Could we leave in an hour, doctor?” 

“Are you really thinking of such a thing? It is 
impossible, madame.” 

“I must do so, nevertheless,” 

“Yes, it has to be done, repeated George. 

“But a long rest might save you?” 

“I will go.” 

“Could you not arrange some means of support 
for madame by which she would be enabled to con- 
tinue her journey?” 

“I can.” 

“Then by all means do so,” eagerly interrupted 
the sufferer. 

Caron began the operation. When the band- 
ages were arranged he plastered them over with 
starch and standing up, said: “In two hours you 
can start, madame.” 

George led him to the far end of the room. 

“It is quite understood, sir, since Monsieur 
Dupuys sees no objection, that this matter is to 
be kept private.” 

“I am satisfied to adopt the same line of conduct 


38 THE TWO TRAVELERS 

as Monsieur Dupuys,” said to the doctor gravely. 

The stranger then drew from his pocket book 
five notes of a hundred francs each, and slipped 
them into Caron’s hand. 

“Five hundred francs ’.’’exclaimed the latter, “but 
this is too much.” 

“It is only just that the wealthy should acknowl- 
edge your care in an exceptional manner, doctor,” 
said George, “since you give them to the poor, and 
madame has a fortune of twenty millions.” 

“Accept it, accept it, doctor,” interrupted the 
wounded woman, “and excuse me for offering so 
little.” 

Caron was vanquished; he put the notes in his 
pocket, bowed to his patient, and after shaking 
hands with me, left the house, accompanied by 
George. 

“Make use of our carriage to drive back, doctor.” 

“Thank you, I will do so gladly, for you cannot 
leave for a couple of hours yet.” They parted, 
Caron got in to the post-chaise which conveyed him 
rapidly in the direction of Ambroise,. 

“Monsieur Dupuys,” then called out George 
from the outside. 

I left the room, leaving the wounded woman 
with my wife* 


THE TWO TRAVELERS 


39 


“Oblige me by preparing a deed of gift for three 
millions/^ 

This enormous sum did not astonish me; the 
strange conduct of my guests had hardened me 
against any surprises. 

“Under what names?” I asked. 

“I will give them to you. Let us go into your 
private office.” 

When we were installed there. 

“The name of the donor first,” I asked him. 

“Madame Baxio.” 

“Is her husband alive?” 

“No she is a widow.” 

“And the names of the receivers?” 

“Armond-Paul-George de Maurange.” 

“Profession?” 

“Gentleman.” 

“The deed will be ready within an hour, but first 
give me the Christian name of the donor.” 

“It is useless.” 

“Pardon me, the heirs of this lady could — ” 

“She has no heirs; do not lose a moment I beg 
of you.” 

And my new client hastily left the office. When 
I had finished the deed and returned to the room, 
George de Maurange and Madame Baxio were 


40 


THE TWO TRAVELERS 


alone. On entering I heard Madame Baxio say 
to him: “If I could only get as far as Marseilles, 
Shiba would save my life.” 

She stopped when she saw me, and pointing to 
the deed which I held in my hand: 

“Give it to me Monsieur,” she said. 

George gave her a pen. She signed with her 
left hand, without even allowing me to read the 
deed aloud to her as I wished to do. Monsieur de 
Maurange put the document in his pocket-book, 
from which he had drawn the five hundred francs 
for the doctor, and taking out a still more volumi- 
nous roll than the first, he offered it tome, saying: 

“This is your fee, monsieur.” 

I had advised Caron to accept, so I could only 
follow his example. 

When my guests had departed I found myself 
richer by twenty-five thousand francs. 

“A good night’s work for you, my dear Dupuys,” 
I said. 

“Yes but this was not all.” 

“Ah!” 

“When the carriage returned from taking the 
doctor home, we had some difficulty in settling the 
wounded woman comfortably. When she was at 
last seated George took his place by her side, and 


THE TWO TRAVELERS 


41 


the carriage started off at a headlong pace. It was 
then three o'clock in the morning. Everything had 
passed so quickly that I could almost have doubted 
the reality of the events which had taken place 
under my roof, if several very tangible proofs had 
not existed to force the knowledge of the truth 
on me. 

“The twenty-five thousand francs in the first 
place!” 

“And the artificial gloved hand!” 

“Have you ever heard anything of the travelers 
since 

“Nothing particular, until about six month's 
ago.” 

“Your story has interested me greatly, but what 
connection was there between these two travelers 
and the chateau, or rather to Clotilde and San- 
chez?” 

“Impatient fellow; give me time to finish. 
Since receiving Monsieur Foucault's letter which 
you read a short time ago, I have seen him and he 
gave me an account with all details of the horrible 
tragedy enacted on the marchioness' property. 
He made me swear not to confide the story to any 
one so long as Madame d'Alviella lived. Even 
yesterday, ignorant as I was of her decease, I could 


42 


THE TWO TRAVELERS 


not have told you anything, but to-day, I am at 
liberty to speak. Listen attentively to this story. 
I know of none more heart rending, for it has for its 
principal causes, the two most frightful passions 
in the human heart: hate and jealousy. Listen, 
only never write of what I am going to tell you.” 

“Then hold your tongue,” I replied laughing; 
“your request is illogical. Tell a novelist not to 
write above all a thrilling tragedy, is to ask an 
impossibility.” 

I will be silent then, unless you promise me, if 
you should feel inclined to tell this story again, to 
change the names of the personages and places.” 

“Oh! as to that I promise you faithfully!” 

“Very well! Give me your undivided attention, 
and if the reader finds this story wanting in 
interest, it is because you have not told it skillfully, 
for it is full of terrible incidents and dramatic 
scenes.” 

The story of the Chateau de la Rage lasted three 
evenings. 

I have taken three months to write it. My 
hope is, that it may interest you for three hours!” 


END OF PROLOGUE. 


THE CHATEAU DE LA RAGE. 


PART I. 

THE JAGUAR HUNT. 

CHAPTER I. 

THE ALVIELLA FAMILY. 

A few years after the accession of Don Pedro to 
the throne of Brazil, the Marquis Alphonse d’Alviella 
left Lisbon with his wife, Marie, and son Sanchez, 
still a child, in order to personally superintend the 
vast properties he possessed near Fernambonne, a 
town of three divisions; Recife, the Isle of Saint 
Antonio, and Boa Vista. 

Nothing particular attended his arrival in Brazil. 
The earlier years of his return passed without inci- 
dent. Sanchez attained his fifteenth year. The 
boy had readily become acclimatised to the hot 
country where winter is unknown. 

As soon as he touched this fiery soil, the Brazil- 
ian blood flowing in Sanchez’s veins circulated 
more freely, as if in recognition of his native land. 

43 


44 


THE ALVIELLA FAMILY 


He breathed free in this torrid 2one, feeling as if 
he had always lived there. Indulged by his 
parents, who adored him, while he was still a youth 
he was soon more the master than his father of the 
little empire formed by the habitations of the 
Aviella family with its extensive plantations of 
sugar, cotton and tobacco. 

Sanchez led an active life. As soon as the tem- 
perature permitted it, he mounted his mare, 
Gazella, and started, his cigar between his lips, to 
overlook, as an amateur, the work of the slaves. 

The young man adopted this mode of life, which 
was thoroughly approved of by the marquis, more 
from a desire to make his power felt, than from 
any wish to be of use; nevertheless, the foundation 
of his character was not bad, and the blacks, 
without actually feeling any affection for him, 
regarded him with liking and respect. 

The appearance of the young marquis counted 
for a good deal. Beauty possesses its own elo- 
quence, and Sanchez was calculated to awaken 
admiration, as, with his gun slung across his shoul- 
der, his face shaded by the broad brim of his large 
straw hat, he set off on his daily rounds, urging 
Gazella both by word and gesture. 

This careless activity, the supremacy he exerted 


THE ALVIELLA FAMILY 


45 


over all, as much on the plantation as in the 
house, where his most trifling wishes were consid- 
ered as laws, simply satisfied the desires of his 
heart, yet untouched by passion, but which only 
waited a look to break out like a volcano. 

There are some hearts whose apparent calm is 
as a fire beneath ashes. Sanchez was of this 
number. 

The Marquis d'Alviella, his father, only inter- 
fered in cases of grave importance, leaving to his 
son and the steward the full control of the work 
on the various plantations. The steward’s name 
was Gomez. He was a Brazilian like his master 
but had never left the country. Trustworthy and 
of great activity, he had succeeded to his father, 
who had filled the same position for Sanchez’s 
grandfather. 

Gomez had but one passion; hunting. 

And the greater number of my readers, who 
tremble with excitement at the sight of a timid 
hare, can readily comprehend the intense ardor of 
this Nimrod’s emotion, for he had to do with 
formidable game Gomez hunted the jaguar. 

At night he would lay in wait, concealed by the 
large leaves of the palm tree, or lying on the slope 
of some deep ravine, waiting patiently for the 


46 


THE ALVIELLA FAMILY 


ferocious animal to spring on the tempting bait 
fastened securely to a tree. 

Then taking steady aim he would kill the beast 
with unerring skill, and carry home his bleeding 
spoil in triumph. 

The rainy season was the most favorable for his 
exploits. 

Chased away then from the mountains the wild 
animals left their inundated dens, descending to- 
wards the ocean to prowl round the towns situated 
on the coast. 

At this time of the year, either in the neighbor- 
hood of Recife or the isle of San Antonio, Corner 
passed all his nights never returning without booty. 

Sometimes he would make his appearance bend- 
ing under a double weight. In such cases. Corner 
was in a most amiable temper and every one on 
the plantation knew that he was satisfied with his 
night’s work. Like other disciples of Saint Hubert, 
the steward could not resist the desire to boast of 
his exploits. Sanchez naturally became his most 
chosen confidante. It is easy to guess the results. 
Fascinated by Gomez’s recitals, the young marquis 
wanted to go jaguar hunting with him. 

One morning after Gomez had just concluded 
one of his most thrilling recitals: 


THE ALVIELLA FAMILY 


47 


‘‘My good Gomez/’ said the young man, “an 
idea has just occurred to me.” 

“What is it, sir.^^” 

“Do you not find going out to hunt alone all 
night, without anyone to witness your skill, and 
share your pleasure, rather lonely work.?” 

“I certainly do, it is not very amusing,” replied 
Gomez, falling readily into the trap. 

“Well then, console yourself. Henceforth you 
will never have to go alone.” 

“How can that be, sir?” 

“I will go with you.” 

“How can you think of such a thing?” 

“I have thought of nothing else for the last 
eight days. I also wish to hunt jaguars.” 

Gomez hesitated a few moments. 

“No, no,” he replied, “it is impossible.” 

“And why? Have I not a good gun? And 
besides, if it is not good enough, could you not 
lend me one of yours?” 

“I was not thinking about the gun! I cannot, I 
ought not to expose you to any danger.” 

“Nonsense! Has anything ever happened to 
you ?” 

“That is true; but if any misfortune should hap- 
pen to me, sir, your father could easily find another 


48 


THE ALVIELLA FAMILY 


steward to fill my place, and that would be all 
. . . . while you .... it makes me shudder 
even to think of it.” 

“Well! but am I not a man.^ I am eighteen 
years old and besides, I am sure nothing would 
happen to me.” 

“Nothing would induce me to consent without 
first consulting your father.” 

“You make a nice business of it; you will cause 
him useless annoyance and yet not prevent me 
from accomplishing my project.” 

“How?” 

“If you do not let me go with you, I shall go 
alone.” 

This was unanswerable. 

“Monsieur le Marquis,” said the steward in an 
anxious voice, “I intend hunting to-night, will 
you do me the honor of accompanying me?” 

“Ah! dear old Gomez!” cried Sanchez throwing 
an arm affectionately round his shoulders, “Good 
Heavens! You old rascal, how difficult it is to 
have my own way with you !” 

“Then we are agreed for this evening?” 

“This evening?” 

Sanchez went away radiant. 

The first shot of the new hunter was a masterly 


one. 


THE ALVIELLA FAMILY 


49 


The moon shone on the damp jungles. The bait 
was fastened securely, and a low growling echoing 
through the mountains soon announced the ap- 
proach of the jaguar. 

“There he is, there he is, Gomez!” 

“Silence, sir, and don't stir for your life!” 

They were lying in wait behind a fragment of 
rock at some distance from the kid which had been 
prepared as a feast to attract the monster. The 
dark supple form of the jaguar was plainly outlined 
against the silvery sky. 

“Are you ready, sir?” 

“Yes.” 

The kid gave a cry of terror. With one bound 
the dark figure cleared the space which separated 
them and sprung on the poor animal with a savage 
growl. 

“Fire!” said Gomez. 

Sanchez obeyed. The steward was preparing 
to shoot in his turn, when the two shadows parted 
asunder; the white (the kids',) sunk helplessly 
down, and the jaguar lay stretched on the ground 
as if killed by a thunderbolt. 

“Bravo! Monsieur le Marquis!” cried Gomez. 

This exploit completely gained the young man’s 
cause and Gomez could no longer refuse to allow 


50 


THE ALVIELLA FAMILY 


his young master to accompany him. Hunting 
became the chief occupation of the young marquis. 


CHAPTER IL 


THE BEAUTIFUL LAKHMI. ^ 

We have already said that Sanchez’s heart 
needed only a glance to yield itself up to passion. 
One day this beat as it had never done before. 
Love had entered into it, and what love. Ah ! 
there was nothing of the gentle flame, which at its 
rise, burns for the first time, discreetly and per- 
fumed as a vestal flame. No, this was an impe- 
rious desire, a man’s real passion, which burned in 
this youth’s heart. She who had produced this 
revolution in the young marquis’ heart, was one of 
his father’s slaves. Her name was Lakhmi, the 
title given by the Indians at Bongalose to the 
statue of beauty. Her mother had been sold to 
the captain of a slave ship in Calcutta, who devo- 
ted his leisure moments to smuggling opium. He 
was Lakhmi’s father; only the captain was igno- 
rant of her existence, for being an unscrupulous 
man and tired of what had been only a passing 
caprice he had sold his mistress to Gomez, never 

4E 51 


52 


THE BEAUTIFUL LAKHMI 


supposing that in a few months she was to give 
birth to a daughter. 

Lakhmi was well named. Nothing could surpass 
her youthful grace. She possessed all the ele- 
gance of the native race, united to the distinguished 
features and bearing of the Indian. Her face was 
beautiful and the pure blood coursed through her 
veins under the slightly bronzed tint of her fine 
skin. Her black hair, tine and silky, fell down to 
the beautifully moulded feet, and the fresh crimson 
lips parted in a soft child-like smile, displaying 
two rows of pearls. Expressive features completed 
this radiant beauty. 

Without analyzing all the details of her various 
charms, Sanchez was fascinated. The first time 
he saw Lakhmi, he found her beautiful, and uncon- 
sciously he fell violently in love with her. 

He had already known her some time, but the 
slave had been a child, and it was only when she 
had attained the age at which a young girl’s beauty 
developes into womanhood, that the young marquis 
was attracted to her. 

But at the same time another sentiment awoke 
in his breast. As soon as he recognized the exist- 
ence of his passion, his pride as a nobleman 
rebelled against the idea. 


THE BEAUTIFUL LAKHMI 


S3 


He tried to overcome it, but failed. 

He then cursed his love and while in his heart 
worshiping Lakhmi, he almost hated her, not being 
generous enough to pardon her for the humiliating 
admiration she had inspired him with. 

A Marquis d’Alvilla in love with a slave. 

Sanchez crimsoned with shame. 

Three years later, less timid and more imperious, 
the marquis would have forced his love on the 
young girl; but he recoiled before this extreme act 
of tyranny and while deploring his love, tried to 
make her share it. 

Delicacy of feeling disguised his restrained de- 
sires, and he very soon caressed the charming 
dream of inspiring Lakhmi to love him and be no 
more a master in her eyes, but the most tender and 
submissive of lovers. 

He might have been able to realize this dream, 
but tormented between his weakness and pride, 
hesitating between these two sentiments, while 
trying to please, he only succeeded in making 
himself feared. Then also, an invincible obstacle 
prevented the young Indian girl from taking any 
tender interest in him, even had she been able to 
overcome the prejudices inherent in one of her 
condition. If the distance separating hirq from 


54 


THE BEAUTIFUL LAKHMI 


the slave was comprehended by Sanchez, Lakhmi 
appreciated still more the gulf existing between 
master and slave. 

Nevertheless, this social abyss was but vaguely 
measured by her, for Sanchez did not betray him- 
self by words. His eyes and acts spoke alone. 

“Ah! Lakhmi! Lakhmi,^’ he would cry to him- 
self, “what cursed demon has placed you in my 
way. Why are you so beautiful, unsympathetic 
girl that you are.^ A slave! I am in love with a 
slave No, it cannot be true; I hate and despise 
her ; she is not worthy either of my love or caresses ; 
she is not a woman, only a slave. Yet she is 
beautiful; — Oh! yes, beautiful — But she will love 
me! — she must! oh! yes, it must be as I wish!’’ 

Then his pride would rebel. 

“Fool,” he would add, “take care that no one 
finds this out, hide your lamentable weakness from 
every one! Have you fallen so low that you will 
solicit the love of a slave ! — But — I cannot resist, 
I must tell her of my love. Yes, I will tell her!” 

He hastened to Lakhmi’s hut; but as soon as 
he had crossed the threshold, his lips, so anxious 
to reveal their secret, refused to perform their 
office. 

The master assumed the ascendency, and the 


THE BEAUTIFUL LAKHMI 


55 


lover yielded his place to him before the slave had 
time to raise her beautiful eyes to his. 

On one occasion, however, this change did not 
take place so promptly. 

“Ah! it is you, master said Lakhmi, surprised 
at Sanchez’s abrupt arrival. 

“Yes, did I frighten you?” 

“No, master.” 

“Master!” repeated Sanchez, “do not call me by 
that name !” 

“But—” 

“It is my wish!” 

And by a singular contrast the accent in which 
he issued this command was not so much a master’s 
as a tyrant’s. 

Lakhmi looked down submissively. 

Sanchez took a chair and sat down. 

“Come here, nearer,” said he, after a short silence 
pointing to a rush mat which lay at his feet. 

The slave obeyed in silence. 

“Look at me,” added Sanchez. “Look at me 
steadily. What do you read in my eyes?” 

“I see that you are good.” 

“Is that all?” 

“Yes.” 

Sanchez bit his lips. His eyes flashed. 


56 THE BEAUTIFUL LAKHMI 

“And do my looks convey no other feeling to 
you?’’ he continued in an irritated voice. 

“Well, yes.” 

“Speak.” 

“But I dare not — ” 

“Speak I tell you, I order it! — ” 

“Only they make me a little afraid!” 

“Afraid?” exclaimed Sanchez quickly dropping 
Lakhmi’s hand that he had been almost crushing 
in his own. “You are afraid of me?” 

“A little, yes.” 

“Foolish girl! what have I ever done to inspire 
you with any fear?” 

“Nothing, master, it is true; but I have been 
taught to fear you.” 

“Who taught you?” 

“Those others, who belong to you as I do.” 

“Am I then cruel to them?” 

“Ah! no; but you are the master.” 

“And because they are slaves, they tremble — Oh ! 
the cowards! Gomez and my father are right; 
they are not men; they have neither heart nor 
soul like us, slaves ‘are all alike.” 

Unsuspicious of the true cause of his anger, 
Lakhmi was terrified. Hardly knowing what she 
was saying she murmured: 


THE BEAUTIFUL LAKHMI 


57 


“The master is right. I am only a poor slave, 
and have no right to any heart.” 

These words changed the current of the marquis’ 
thoughts. 

“And if you had this right !” he cried. “Come, 
now, let us be frank together, if to-morrow you 
were free.^” 

“Free — To what purpose.?” 

“To prove to you that I do not wish to constrain 
your feelings in any way — who would you love?” 

Lakhmi hesitated. 

“Would you love me?” 

The slave misunderstood, she thought the ques- 
tion was asked distrustfully. 

“Never!” she cried out in an accent of unaffected 
terror. 

“Fool!” hissed Sanchez as he raised his whip. 

Lakhmi crouched down to receive the blow, but 
the sight of her beautiful shoulders withheld San- 
chez, who, ashamed of his brutality, hurriedly left 
the hut in a state of excitement bordering on 
madness. 

That night the tigers fared badly. Gomez shot 
one and Sanchez two. 


CHAPTER III. 


DOMINIQUE. 

By answering: “Never,” as Lakhmi had done to 
the marquis when he asked her, if, as a free^woman, 
she would love him, she had not spoken falsely, as 
for some time past her heart had been in another’s 
keeping. 

Hers was a tender heart, imperiously demanding 
to be loved. 

Simple minded and free from coquetry, uncon- 
scious of the irresistible power of her rare beauty, 
she considered she was bound as a slave to submit 
humbly to what she imagined was a mere caprice 
of temper in Sanchez. 

Never questioning the inferiority of her race, 
her prejudices and innocence prevented her from 
divining what was passing in the young man’s 
heart. 

His fits of harsh temper saddened Lakhmi, with- 
out affecting her in any other way, and his manner 
was to her simply childlike and inexplicable. 

58 


DOMINIQUE 


59 


Besides, she loved another, with a love as pure 
as her own heart, as virginal as her own beauty. 

He who had won her heart was a young mulatto 
as handsome as she was beautiful, and also, one of 
the marquis* slaves. 

He was called Dominique. 

Having been both born on the plantation, 
Lakhmi and Dominique grew up together; their 
minds had opened at the same time; had shared 
each other’s joys and sorrows, and without being 
exactly aware of it yet, their affection was without 
limit. 

In the evening, when the signal liad been given 
to stop work, they both withdrew to some secluded 
spot, and hand in hand wandered about the woods 
indulging in endless conversations. 

Lakhmi believed she loved Dominqiue as her 
brother, and he never stopped to question himself 
why, when near his lovely companion, his heart 
beat so quickly, why, when she was no longer 
near, her image occupied his thoughts. 

There were no doubts existing between them, no 
fears, no trifling quarrels. 

Dominique would have given his life to spare 
Lakhmi one tear, and she would have done the 
same to save him from the smallest grief. 


6o 


DOMIQUINE 


Their love was like a harmony rising from their 
hearts as incense ascends to Heaven. 

The day arrived, however, when the youg mulatto 
discovered the nature of the affection with which 
Lakhmi had inspired him. 

It was owing to Sanchez that his eyes were 
unsealed. 

Several scenes equally strange to the one we 
have described had taken place between master 
and slave. 

Lakhmi, still ignorant of Sanchez's violent pas- 
sion, tried in vain to discover the cause of his con- 
duct, and maintained towards him her usual re- 
spectful and submissive manner. 

The frequent visits of the young marquis to 
Lakhmi’s hut, did not escape the notice of Dom- 
inique. 

He questioned the young girl. 

Lakhmi would not tell a falsehood, and besides, 
why should she try to do so. * 

Her recital was a veritable revelation to the 
listener; instinctively, he divined what was passing 
in Sanchez’s mind. 

Then since up to a certain point his master’s 
conduct would be explained, he concluded also, 
that what he himself felt for Lakhmi, was not only 
friendship, but love. 


DOMINIQUE 


6l 


“What do you think of it all?” demanded 
Lakhmi, when she had confided everything to him. 

Dominique seemed as if awakening from a dream. 

“Nothing,” said he at last; “a mere fancy on the 
part of the master, that is all.” 

For the first time he deceived her. 

As the young girl spoke, a feeling of intense 
agony awoke within his heart, and he could hardly 
restrain a cry of pain. 

It was like something eating into his heart, and 
all Lakhmi's efforts were unsuccessful in winning 
him for an instant from the fit of deep gloom, into 
which he had fallen. 

Tired of wasting her attempts to rouse him, 
Lakhmi prepared to leave, attributing his unac- 
customed sulkiness to some sudden caprice, when 
suddenly a tear from the mulatto’s eyes dropped on 
her hand. 

“Tears,” she cried, “tears, Dominique, my 
brother! And why? Take pity on me and speak. 
I implore you, tell me, what is grieving you ?” 

“No, no, it is nothing; I am not crying! — ” 

“Ah! you are uhkind to wish to deceive me! Do 
I not tell you all my troubles?” 

“Well,” said Dominique, after a moment’s 
reflection, “I promise to tell you all this evening.” 


62 


DOMINIQUE 


Lakhmi did not dare to insist. She went on her 
way slowly, after looking sadly and reproachfully at 
her lover. 

On returning to the hut, Lakhmi found Sanchez 
there. 

“Where do you come from?” said he to her in a 
tone which betrayed his annoyance at being kept 
waiting. 

“I was over there, near the palm trees, master.” 

“What were you doing there?” 

“Talking.” 

“With whom?” 

“Dominique.” 

The young marquis had already remarked that 
the young girl was more frequently to be seen with 
the mulatto than with her other companions. 

On hearing his name pronounced, his jealousy 
awoke, and changed his annoyance into rage. 

“I forbid you to speak to him or anyone else. 
You are very often with him!” 

“With whom, master?” 

“Dominique.” 

“We have been brought up together on the plan- 
tation; he is my brother.” 

“Ah! your brother; indeed — I will have him 
sold!” 


DOMINIQUE 


63 


‘‘Oh! my master, you will not do that!” 

“ Why?” 

“Because Dominique is a good slave, devoted and 
obedient, and he loves his master.” 

“You defend him warmly.” 

“I only do him justice. Is there anyone on the 
whole plantation more zealous, more skilful, or 
more trustworthy than he?” 

Lakhmi became animated in singing her friend’s 
praises. The fear of losing him had brought the . 
crimson to her cheeks, and enhanced the brilliancy* 
of her beauty. 

The young marquis yielded to the fascination the 
loveliness of the young girl possessed over him. 
His anger cooled. 

“I promise you not to sell him, then,” he said. 

“Ah! master, how good you are!” 

And seizing Sanchez’s hand she covered it with 
kisses and tears while she knelt at his feet. 

The contact of her fresh young lips thrilled 
through him, but her tears had an irritating effect; 
so raising Lakhmi with a haughty gesture, he con- 
tinued in a cold, hard voice: 

“No, I will not sell Dominqine, but on one con- 
dition.” 

“What condition, master?” 


64 


DOMINIQUE 


‘‘That from this time forward you do not go with 
him more than with the other slaves.” 

Lakhmi’s hesitation was great. 

“I promise,” she said at last. 

At this moment a voice was heard outside the hut. 

It was Gomez who was heard to say: 

“What are you about here.^ Are you asleep.^ 
Come, get up, you are not fed for the purpose of 
doing nothing!” 

“I am going to work, Master Gomez,” was the 
'reply. 

The sound of a light, active step was heard on 
the ground. 

Lakhmi turned pale. 

“Who were yo speaking to.^” demanded Sanchez 
going out of the hut. 

“That lazy fellow Dominique who lay sleeping 
there like a crocodile in the sun.” 

“Dominique!” repeated the marquis angrily. 
“Ah! so Dominique was there 

“Yes, there, lying down close to the hut.” 

“He was listening; acting the spy! — Oh! so he 
loves her also!” said Sanchez to himself. 

“I have sent him back to work,” pursued Gomez. 
“But what is the matter with you, sir? You are 
very pale.” 


DOMINIQUE 65 

“I am furious with this slave who wastes his time, 
Gomez. He must be severely punished.” 

“O !” replied the steward, “it is the first time 
such a thing has happened, and I am astonished to 
find him loafing, for as a rule, he is industrious 
and active, but if it happens again, he will catch 
it.” 

“You are too indulgent, Gomez.” 

“Only a few days ago you reproached me with 
being quite the opposite.” 

“A few days ago it was different, the fault com- 
mitted was not so great.” 

“Allow me to tell you, sir, that your memory is 
at fault. It was on account of a fight, and you 
made me set the two combatants at liberty after I 
had them in irons.” 

“For the future, I shall never contradict your 
orders, Gomez,” said the marquis, growing more 
calm. “Clemency, I see, is not appreciated; they 
seem to count upon it too surely here.” 

“Monsieur le Marquis will do just as he thinks 
best,” said Gomez as he walked away. 

Lakhmi had not lost one word of the conversation. 

Standing close against the door, she had listened 
attentively to the conversation between Gomez and 
the marquis. 


66 


DOMINIQUE 


When Sanchez re-entered the hut, she rushed 
forward in order to implore him to spare Domi- 
nique. 

Her master did not give her time to speak. 

“You see,” said he to her, “the one you were 
praising so highly a few moments ago, deserves 
severe punishment; but a hundred strokes of the 
palmatora* will cure him of his lazy habits.” 

Oh! master, you will pardon him, be merciful!” 

“Well then! say nothing more about it,” said 
Sanchez, whom a sudden idea seemed to make 
calm. “I will pardon him this time, but I do not 
wish you to speak any more to this Dominique, 
and I order you to avoid him.” 

Lakhmi thought only of the torture she was to 
save the mulatto from. 

“I promise you, master.” 

“Then that will do; keep your word, if you 
don’t, you will incur my serious anger.” 

Uttering these threatening words with suppressed 
rage, Sanchez went out. 

“Oh !” he exclaimed when he found himself alone, 
“if they love each other, woe to them!” 

* A rod used for punishing slaves. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE OATH. 

For a few weeks, which appeared very long to 
them, Lakhmi and Dominique to whom the 
master’s orders were given without delay, carefully 
avoided meeting each other. 

Sanchez kept a strict watch over them, and paid 
no more visits to the young slave’s hut. 

Lakhmi’s respect for her master was an obstacle 
in the way of her loving him; but was it possible 
she preferred Dominique, a mulatto, a slave! 

He recommenced his visits to the hut but, sin- 
gularly and most inexplicably, his interviews with 
Lakhmi were calm, and the time was passed in 
carrying on a forced conversation without interest 
to either. 

Sanchez had determined to be patient, resolved 
to leave everything to time and chance. 

Dominique’s love was too great and his fears too 
violent to enable him to support this state of mat- 
ters any length of time. 

5E 


67 


68 


THE OATH 


According as the young master recovered his 
calm, the love of the two he wished to separate in- 
creased in intensity. 

At any price, Dominique was determined to speak 
to Lakhmi, and she also could not resist showing 
this desire. ♦ 

One evening, at the hour when the slaves were 
in the habit of resting before their huts, after the 
torrid heat of the day, the two having met by 
chance, ran away together without saying a word, 
but moved by the same thought, went in the direc- 
tion of a shady place. 

Dark clouds covered the horizon portending one 
of those fierce and terrible storms to be seen in 
southern countries. 

Dominique clasped the girl’s hand in his own, 
saying in a low eager voice, as he led her along: 

“At last! at last!” 

When they stopped, the mulatto threw a search- 
ing glance around to assure himself that they had 
not been followed and seizing the beautiful girl in 
his arms, pressed her convulsively to his breast. 

“Oh! what torture I have endured! Six weeks, 
six centuries without seeing or speaking to you, 
without being able to tell you that I was suffering. 
Oh, Lakhmi! I thought I would have died; but 


THE OATH 


69 


this moment has made me forget everything!” 

“Do you think I did not suffer as well as you 
from having to obey the master?” 

“The master!” said Dominqiue, a look of inde- 
scribable hatred passing over his face as he said 
the words. 

“Good God! Dominique, what is the matter with 
you?” cried Lakhmi terrified. 

“What is the matter with me? You ask me that? 
It is this: the master loves you, and I am jealous 
of him!” 

The young girl was so far from expecting such a 
terrible revelation, that she did not at first, quite 
comprehend its full meaning. 

“Yes, the master loves you,” resumed Dominique, 
“and if Gomez did discover me near your hut, it 
was because I suspected him, and I confess I went 
there to hear what he had to say to you.” 

“The master loves us all!” 

Dominique again seized the young gril’s hands 
in his and holding her before him scrutinized her 
features carefully. Her air of simple, sincere can- 
dor, banished all his doubts. 

“That is not what I mean,” he continued, “the 
master loves you as I do, he is in love with you.” 

“In love with me, he, the master! it is impos- 
sible !” 


70 


THE OATH 


“It is true, however, and I am sure of it, since 
I am jealous of him, as he is of me.” 

“You are in love with me, you, Dominique.^” 
questioned Lakhmi with innocent candor. “Then 
you love me now more than ever you did before 

“Listen to me, Lakhmi. When Gomez surprised 
me listening to the master, his words of hatred 
against me immediately awoke the same feelings 
of fierce jealousy in my heart against him. He 
hates me, because he guesses how I love you, and 
I hold him in horror for the same reason; but still, 
in the midst of my violent rage, I acknowledge his 
power! He is the master, and I am only a poor 
slave.” 

“Oh! how you must have suffered!” 

“One thought helped to sustain me. I hoped you 
loved only me!” 

“You alone, in all the wide, wide world, and 
with all my heart!” • 

The young man’s eyes rested on Lakhmi with a 
look of radiant gratitude. 

“At one moment, mad with despair and anger, 
I was on the point to enter the hut, seize his gun, 
and kill him before you !” 

“Hush!” 

“I would have done it, I tell you, only I had 


THE OATH 71 

faith in your true heart. The idea of this crime 
still haunts me. 

“Hush, Dominique — You must not say such 
things!” 

“Ah! you cannot imagine the agony I endure. 
I saw him go into your hut daily, while I was for- 
bidden access. Oh ! Lakhmi, you cannot compre- 
hend my sufferings, but listen to me. If to-morrow 
you saw me prefer another slave to you, and leave 
you for her, what would you do?” 

“I would kill myself!” 

“Well! it is jealousy that would make you kill 
yourself.” 

“I love you then also, Dominique? — Oh! I am 
sure of it, for that frightful supposition of yours, 
a moment ago, sent a thrill through my heart like 
the blade of a knife. You will never love anyone 
but me, will you?” 

“Can you doubt it? But do you understand the 
horror of our position, since the master loves you 
too! If we are never to meet again, I will kill the 
marquis; if we persist in speaking to each other, 
he will kill us both. Lakhmi, we must fly!” 

“Fly!” repeated the girl terror stricken. 

“This very night, this very instant, and so far 
away that he will never find us again!” 


72 


THE OATH 


“But it is death to fly; the jaguar and starvation 
awaits us in the mountains'/^ 

“Possibly, but at least, we can die together. 
Come, can you make up your mind?” 

Lakhmi remained silent. 

“Take pity on me and answer,” pleaded Domi- 
nique. “I beg you, think of our love.” 

“What do you wish me to say? To die in the 
jungles or under the taya of the master, provided 
we have not to part, what does it matter? But 
to fly, we slaves, will it not be stealing from the 
master?” 

“And does he not try to steal your heart from 
me?” cried the mulatto, and overcome by his past 
anxieties and the keen emotion of the moment, he 
could not restrain a sob, as he buried his head in 
Lakhmi’s luxuriant hair. 

The young girl simply clasped his hands affec- 
tionately in hers. 

Dominique hesitated a moment, but at the 
thought that he might one day have to see the 
girl he worshiped belong to the marquis, he forgot 
the jaguars of the jungles, the serpents in the rocks, 
the crocodiles in the lakes and streams, and his 
eyes yet bearing the traces of tears, exclaimed: 

“Lakhmi, we must fly! If you love me, do not 


THE OATH 


73 


1 


refuse, otherwise, I will think you are not indiffer- 
ent to the master, and I will kill you for such 
cowardice and falsehood.’’ 

“Grief is making you unjust, Dominique; I love 
no one but you. Let us go!” 

“You agree to follow me.?” 

“I would brave anything rather than leave you.” 

“Oh! my dearest, your soul is as great as your 
love ! Thank you, and now listen again. This 
project of flight occurred to me before to-day. I 
have been making preparations for it. I have 
buried not far from here, at the foot of a palm tree, 
all that we shall require in the way of arms and 
provisions. And now, follow me; we will go and 
find our treasure, and then run away.” 

They started off, but before they had advanced 
ten steps their passage was barred by some one. 

Dominique stopped short, terrified, the color 
receding from his lips, as he recognized Sanchez. 

And his slave nature asserted itself as he bent his 
head, and watched the whip which the young mar- 
quis carried in his hand. But the hand remained 
motionless and the whip was not raised. 

Lakhmi stood nailed to the spot in terror. She 
stared at Sanchez without seeing him. The marquis 
looked at them both in silence for some time as if 


74 


THE OATH 


he relished the horror which his sudden appearance 
had inspired in the two lovers, and then in a quiet^ 
calm voice, which contrasted strangely with what 
was passing in his mind: 

‘‘Where were you going?’’ he asked them. 

“We were taking a walk,” hazarded Dominique. 

“Rather far from the plantation, it seems to me. 
Make haste back, it is late!” ordered Sanchez. 

The calm voice with which he uttered these 
words surprised Dominique and Lakhmi to such a 
degree that they instinctively obeyed. 

When they were sufficiently far from the marquis 
to ensure his not overhearing them: 

“You see, Dominique,” said Lakhmi, “the master 
is good; your fears were unreasonable. Let us be 
gateful to Heaven for having encountered him, 
since he has prevented us from doing what was 
wrong. If he had loved me as you think, his 
manner just now proves that he is not jealous, so 
he does not do so any longer.” 

“Cease to love you, when he has once done so, 
Lakhmi! is it possible?” 

“You think so, because you are only a slave, like 
me; but the master can choose from the most 
beautiful and wealthy girls in Fernambone, and 
he does not think of me, Dominique.” 


iTHE OATH 


75 


“Heaven grant you may be right! And yet, 
under the calm tone of his words, I thought I dis- 
covered a smothered feeling of anger.” 

“No, you are mistaken; he seemed to me to 
look simply indifferent.” 

“Perhaps you are right, I almost think it; yet I 
dare not hope so. 

“But look, he has not even followed us!” 

But this new proof of his indifference did not 
convince Dominique, who yielding to an uncon- 
querable presentiment, cried out suddenly: 

“Lakhmi, if you never see me again, promise 
that you will never forget me !” 

“I will remember you to my last breath,” said 
the young girl solemnly. “But why do you ask 
me to promise, and why do you fear we are to be 
separated.^” 

“A secret voice tells me! Come now, if the 
master sells me, as he threatened a short time be- 
fore?” 

“I will leave this plantation and follow you were 
it a hundred leagues distant.” 

“And if the master disposes not only of my body, 
but of my life, what then ?” 

“He will die by my hand,” exclaimed Lakhmi. 

“You will avenge me then?” 


76 


THE OATH 


swear it. I will only live to avenge you. 
May Heaven’s curse fall on me if I fail to keep my 
oath!” 

The Indian girl pronounced these words simply 
and solemnly. The marquis, had he heard her, 
could not have refrained from shuddering. 

“Thank you for your promise,” replied Domi- 
nique, “and now, let us trust to the mercy of 
Heaven!” 

They had arrived at the huts. 

“Good-bye,” said Dominqiue, and after assuring 
himself once more that Sanchez had not followed 
them, he took Lakhmi in his arms and pressed as 
tender a kiss on her forehead as had ever been 
offered by human lips. 

“To-morrow,” said she with a loving smile. 

“To-morrow, perhaps !” replied the mulatto, kiss- 
ing his hand in a last adieu to his beautiful com- 
panion. 


CHAPTER V. 


THE JEALOUS MASTER. 

The Marquis Alphonse d’Aviella, no longer took 
any active part in the administration of his estate. 
Leaving to Gomez the management of the plan- 
tation and sale of the crops, and to his son all that 
concerned the general superintendence, he never 
interfered except in very grave cases. His age 
made indolence grateful and demanded rest. He 
visited his estates rarely and when, by chance, he 
underwent this unusual fatigue, it was in an easy 
carriage. He was accompanied, on these occasions, 
by numerous slaves, and the chief mission of the 
blacks consisted in avoiding anything which could 
render the journey irksome. 

M. d’Aviella generally passed his evenings lying 
in a hammock swung close to the ground, suspend- 
ed in a large room, which the old aristocrat dig- 
nified by the name of study. He read until sleep 
invited him to retire for the night, and during these 
daily readings, two slaves were exclusively occupied 
77 


78 


THE JEALOUS MASTER 


in shielding him from the mosquitoes attracted by 
the flame of a lamp suspended from the ceiling. 
A few moments after Dominique had left Lakhmi, 
the door of the study was opened. 

The marquis was lying in his hammock reading. 
Sanchez came in. He was very pale, but as he 
remained in the shade at the moment when the old 
man made a movement to see who had entered, the 
marquis could not notice the livid hue overspread- 
ing his son's countenance. 

The mulatto had not been mistaken when he 
told Lakhmi that Sanchez’s quiet manner was 
only a cloak to hide his dark and terrible anger. 
Only, however serious his apprehensions might be, 
he was far from guessing the reality. Sanchez had 
overheard all the conversation of the two lovers. 
Seeing them hastening to the woods he had fol- 
lowed, and had watched them at not more than 
ten steps distance. Rendered desperate, and 
humiliated on discovering that not only was the 
mulatto his rival, but also possessed his secret; 
his indignation had been transformed into a feeling 
of implacable hatred. Rage and jealousy made 
his temples throb like two forge-hammers. Play- 
ing with his gun, he thought at one moment of 
shooting the two slaves dead at his feet. But he 


THE JEALOUS MASTER 


79 


hesitated. Lakhmi was too beautiful to kill, 
Dominique too blamable for daring to love, for 
such a slight punishment as a peaceful death would 
afford. He listened, and drank his cup of humili- 
ation to the very dregs. 

Mad with rage, he meditated a crime. Dominique 
was doubly guilty; he had committed a grave 
offense in addition to his daring to love. He had 
decided to run away, that is, to be guilty of theft. 
He merited punishment then, not because he loved 
Lakhmi, but because he had wished to entice a 
young girl, another slave, with him in his flight. 
This was all Sanchez needed. 

He persuaded himself that he would only be 
doing an act of justice in obtaining an order from 
his father to inflict the most terrible tortures on 
Dominique. 

His heart bounded when he saw the mulatto 
embrace the^beautiful slave after having received 
her terrible oath. A second time he levelled his 
gun at Dominique, but again he lowered his 
weapon. His vengeance could not be satisfied 
with the simple death of his rival. He would 
make him suffer first. Yet Sanchez had not a 
vicious nature; but his disappointed love and 
furious jealousy had deprived him of all reason. 


8o 


THE JEALOUS MASTER 


He was the living impersonation of hatred. 

“Oh! I will kill them both,” he swore to himself; 
“but with a terrible death! To dare me, their 
master, me!” 

He arrived home still quivering with rage and 
presented himself at an advanced hour at his 
father’s room. 

“Ah ! is it you?” observed the old man tranquilly ; 
“what brings you now?” 

“A painful duty, father.” 

“What do you wish to tell me?” 

“That you must sign an order for Gomez.” 

“What order?” 

“One to punish Dominique.” 

“Dominique?” repeated the marquis trying to 
remember. 

“Yes, Dominique, a slave on the plantation.” 

“I hardly understand what you wish me to do, 
my son, or who you are speaking about !” 

“He is one of the workers; that is why you have 
not noticed him, father.” 

“Very possibly,” said M. d’Aviella indolently. 
“And what has this Dominique done whom you 
wish to punish so severely that an order for execut- 
ing the sentence is necessary?” 

“He has been guilty of the most serious crimes 


THE JEALOUS MASTER 


8i 


a slave can commit. He tried to run away!^’ 

“To run away!’^ repeated the marquis indig- 
nantly. 

“Yes, father, and that is not all; abusing the 
confidence of another slave v^ho was fond of him, 
he had— persuaded her to fly with him.^* 

“That is a very grave offense indeed, Sanchez; 
why did they wish to fly 

“They were not questioned.” 

“That must be done. How was their project 
discovered 

The young man was slightly embarrassed at this 
last very direct question. 

“It was Gomez,” he replied after a moment's 
hesitation, “who surprised them when they were 
just about to dig up the arms and provisions which 
they had buried for their further use.” 

“You are right, Sanchez, this Dominique de- 
serves punishment.” 

“He deserves to be made an example of, father, 
for other slaves will imitate him very soon if you 
do not take energetic measures in this instance.” 

“Above all things, I wish to be just.” 

“It is in the name of justice I am speaking, 
father.” 

“While agreeing with you as to the necessity of 


82 


THE JEALOUS MASTER 


a serious punishment, I find you too severe, San- 
chez, and you know, I do not approve of severe 
punishment.” 

“Yes, I know; and that is why I am so persist- 
ent; clemency in this instance would be more 
than weakened and might prove before long, an 
irreparable error. They take advantage of your 
kindness, and Gomez, encouraged by it, is not 
severe enough. Work is not so well done and has 
been advancing very slowly of late.” 

“This is the first time I have heard you speak 
of all this, my son.” 

“That is true, but if I did not do so, it was to 
save you from the annoyance of occupying yourself 
about these details; I counted upon Gomez, hoped 
that things would improve, and order be re-estab- 
lished; but, unfortunately, I have been deceived. 
Dominique’s conduct will be imitated. However 
lightly it may weigh on them, slaves always feel 
the weight of their chain and instinctively desire 
to break it. There is, at this moment, among 
ours, a rebellion fermenting, which it is my duty 
to acquaint you with. A rising, a revolt, may break 
out at any moment, if you do not show that the 
hand which rules them does know how to punish 
when it is necessary.” 


THE JEALOUS MASTER 


83 


“If that is your opinion, give Dominique a hun- 
dred strokes of the palmatora on his hands, since 
our safety demands that he should suffer for others.” 

“The palmatora only.^ You cannot mean it, 
father!” 

“But I do. A hundred strokes. It seems to 
me that the punishment is quite severe enough to 
recall the more refractory to a sense of their duty.” 

“What punishment will we administer for slight 
misdemeanors if we make use of the palmatora for 
a crime. The taya is what is necessary !” 

“The taya! No, no; I have no desire to kill 
even the most culpable of our slaves. I would 
prefer selling them.” 

Sanchez could not repress a movement of anger, 
for he felt he would have some difficulty in con- 
quering his father’s obstinacy on this point. He 
resolved therefore, to have recourse to a ruse to 
attain his ends. 

“There is no reason why death should be the 
inevitable result,” he resumed; “I know that the 
strokes of the taya are terrible, but the guilty man 
in this case, is a robust young fellow.” 

“You know, Sanchez, that the strongest man 
must succumb under the strokes of this murderous 
weapon!” 

6E 


84 


THE JEALOUS MASTER 


‘‘That depends on the number given.” 

“That is true.” 

“You had better leave the whole matter to me. 
Sign an order to give Dominique the taya\ leave a 
blank for the number of strokes. I shall watch 
over the mulatto, and I promise you not to allow 
more than he can bear with safety. . He will re- 
cover in a few days, the desired effect will have 
been produced and we will sell him afterwards as 
soon as possible.” 

“There is some wisdom in your advice; give me 
pen and paper, and I will do as you wish. To- 
morrow, I will instruct Gomez to take his orders 
from you without waiting for any written permis- 
sion from me. You are now a man, and I wish to 
leave everything in your hands.” 

A look of triumph lighted up Sanchez’s features 
as his father wrote out an order and signed it. 

Sanchez took the order and writing the words 
“hundred,” on the blank left by his father, carried 
the order to Gomez, who on seeing it exclaimed 
with astonishment: 

“But it will be his death.” 

“It is by my father’s orders,” said Sanchez coldly, 
“and must be done. Go and see to the necessary 
preparations and have the sentence carried into 
effect immediately.” 


THE JEALOUS MASTER 


85 


When all was ready, and 'while Sanchez stood 
by in silence, Gomez approached him and in a 
voice full of emotion said: 

“In the name of the friendship you design to 
bear me, Monsieur le Marquis, I implore you, wait 
until to-morrow.’^ 

“Do what I tell you, and at once. I wish it!” 

Gomez went away and accompanied by the ex- 
ecutioners entered Dominique’s hut. 

On seeing the taya which one of them carried: 

“I expected you,” said the mulatto. “I am 
ready to die.” 

When Sanchez saw Gomez go in the direction 
of his victim’s hut with the two men, he said aloud: 

“Now that I have secured him, let me look after 
her!” 

And he walked off to Lakhmi’s hut, which was 
situated at the opposite extremity of the plantation. 


I 


CHAPTER VL 


THE TAYA. 

Sanchez had only gone about half way to the hut 
when he was compelled to stop. Emotion, hatred, 
anger, all the strong feelings he had yielded to 
since he had surprised the lovers together caused 
a rush of blood to the heart. For a moment a 
feeling of remorse overcame him. Dominique’s 
fate appalled him. He already seemed to hear the 
whistling of the cruel lash of the murderous whip; 
saw the blood flowing in streams from the mulatto’s 
wounds, and his rival crushed and dying. The 
thought occurred to him to retrace his steps, and 
give orders to Gomez to defer executing the sen- 
tence until the following day, but he recalled 
Lakhmi’s words when she told the mulatto that she 
loved him. 

The state of the atmosphere had a great deal to 
do with Sanchez’ feverish excitement. The air 
was charged with electricity, and dense vaporous 
clouds hung close to the ground. The heaviness 
86 


THE TAYA 


87 


of the air seemed to bind his forehead as with a 
circlet of iron. At about twenty paces from the 
hut he stopped. 

“It is you, master said a voice coming from 
behind the tall grass. 

“Yes, Manoel.’^ 

Then a black figure rose up and advanced to 
the marquis. 

“Well,’’ said Sanchez. 

“Nothing has moved; she is still in her hut.” 

“No one has tried to get in.?” 

“No one, master.” 

“When was the light put out.?” 

“About an hour ago.” 

“Then you think she is asleep?” 

“I am sure of it.” 

“How?” 

“I listened a moment ago with my ear against 
the door and her regular breathing proved to me 
that she must be sound asleep.” 

“That is well. Go to Gomez, bring his gun and 
cartouche box, then go and saddle Gazella and 
wait for me with her at the far end of the great 
avenue.” 

“I am going, master,” said the negro turning 
away. 


88 


THE TAYA 


Sanchez called him back. 

‘‘One word more. Manage so that no one sees 
you.” 

“You may rely on me, master.” 

And Manoel departed running. 

The different orders which he had already exe- 
cuted with the exception of the last, had been 
given to him by the young marquis before going 
into his father’s study. 

As soon as Manoel was out of sight, Sanchez 
knocked at the door of the hut. 

There was no answer. 

The young man gave a louder knock. 

A slight movement was heard, and the young 
slave girl’s voice demanded: 

“Is it you, Dominique.?” 

Suddenly awakened from her first sleep, Lakhmi 
had pronounced the first name which her heart 
had whispered to her, never reflecting that at this 
advanced hour it was hardly probable that the one 
who was knocking could be the mulatto. 

On hearing his rival’s name uttered by the girl 
he loved, Sanchez’ still wavering resolve became 
irrevocably fixed. 

A cloud of blood seemed to pass before his eyes, 
and he had to exercise violent restraint over him- 
self in order to answer calmly: 


89 


THE TAYA 

“No, it is I, the master; open!^’ 

Then, without waiting any longer, he pushed the 
door which was not securely fastened, roughly 
open, and entered the hut, without paying any 
attention to the young girl’s cry of alarm. 

“You did not expect me then?’^ he said, in a 
mocking voice. 

“The master is always welcome,” replied the 
young girl humbly. 

“Find a light,” he ordered imperiously. 

With trembling hands, Lakhmi did as she was 
ordered. 

“You would rather see Dominique here than me, 
would you not, since, when I knocked, you thought 
it was he.” 

“If I did say his name, master, it was because I 
thought the night was over and my brother had 
come to awaken me.” 

“Your brother?” repeated Sanchez with a sneer. 
“He is in the habit of coming here at daybreak, 
then?” 

“Yes, master.” 

“In spite of my having forbidden him?” 

“He does not come now, I swear it. I have only 
spoken to him one time, this evening.” 

“You lie! You have both deceived me.” 


90 the TAYA 

“Oh! master, how can you think so?” 

Lakhmi’s magnificent hair had become undone 
during her sleep, and now fell in long masses to 
the ground. 

Never had Sanchez seen her look so beautiful. 

Then by a^ inexplicable contradiction of his ill 
regulated mind, he forgot his hate, the! fate of his 
rival, and thought of nothing but his love. 

“No,” he thought, “she deceives herself; it is 
impossible she can prefer the mulatto to me. It 
is her shyness which misleads her. I must try to 
reassure her.” 

Then aloud: 

“Lakhmi, listen to me.” 

“Speak, master.” 

“You disobeyed me this evening.” 

“It is true. The master wishes to punish me?” 

“No, did I ever threaten to do so?” 

“No, you were merciful and good to the poor 
slave.” 

“Yet, I knew all!” 

“What about, master.?” demanded the slave. 

“About your wish to 6y with Dominique!” 

Lakhmi started. 

“I overheard all your conversation I” pursued 
the young marquis. 


THE T^YA 


91 


At this avowal, the slave trembled in every limb 
and was powerless to utter a word. 

“Don’t be afraid,” continued Sanchez; “I only 
tell you this to prove how kind I have been.” 

“Then I must thank you on my knees!” 

And clasping her hands together, she knelt at 
Sanchez’s feet, with her eyes fixed on him with 
such grateful acknowledgment, that he hardly 
knew what he was doing. 

The attitude displayed her exquisitely rounded 
shoulders, looking white in contrast to the glossy 
black of her hair which half veiled them. Sanchez 
stood looking at her, intoxicated at the sight of her 
divine beauty. 

“Do you really wish to prove that you are sensi- 
ble of my goodness,” said he in a voice trembling 
with emotion. 

“Oh! yes, master.” 

“Very well then ! promise to answer the ques- 
tions I am going to put to you frankly.” 

“Question me, master, I am ready.” 

“Why did you wish to fly with Dominique — 
Ah! do not be afraid of me; I have been severe 
sometimes, but I promise not to be so again; speak 
truthfully and be not afraid.” 

Sanchez had yielded to an illusion; blinded by 


92 


tHE TAYA 


his dreams of love, he felt sure of coming out the 
conqueror in the struggle in which he had engaged 
with his inferior rival. In spite of Sanchez’s smi- 
ing demeanor, Lakhmi kept silent. 

“You hesitate resumed the young man, “well, 
I will speak for you. You wished to fly because 
you love Dominique, was it not so.^’^ 

“Yes,’’ said Lakhmi subdued and frightened. 

“Are you quite certain of that? Have you 
sufficiently questioned your own heart, are you 
quite sure?” 

“I think I am.” 

“Well, you are mistaken. What is Dominique 
after all? Only a slave, incapable of defending 
you at the slightest sign from my father.” 

“And what more am I, myself, than a slave?” 

“You! You are beautiful, more beautiful than 
the loveliest among free women.” 

“Dominique is handsome.” 

“Have you never seen any other man who ap- 
peared to you as handsome as he is?” 

“I have seen, perhaps, as. handsome, but I have 
never met any one to please me as much as he 
does.” 

“It is because he was the first to speak to you 
of love.” 


THE TAYA 


93 


“He has only spoken to me of it once; it was 
only then I knew my own heart. 

“But why do you love him?^’ 

“How do I know.^^’^ 

“Come, if to-morrow I made you rich, happy, 
could you not feel for me a little of the love you 
have for Dominique?” 

“To say yes, would be deceiving you. No, 
master, I don't think so.” 

“I am young, rich, handsome like him.” 

“Oh! yes, master.” 

“Well, then.” 

“What can I say? It is not my fault. I belong 
to you, master, my body belongs to you, you can 
kill me if I offend you, but my heart belongs to 
him.” 

And seizing the marquis' hand, she was going to 
carry it to her lips; but Sanchez, who had lost all 
control over himself, pushed her away roughly and 
cried out: 

“Foolish idiot!” 

Lakhmi gazed at him terrified. 

Sanchez's features were convulsed and his eyes 
flashed lightning. 

He was convinced now that nothing he could do 
would make the girl love him. 


94 


THE TAYA 


Jealousy and anger again gained the ascendency. 

At this moment the thunder seemed to come 
nearer, and its rumblings became more sonorous. 

‘‘Master! — Master!” — cried out Lakhmi, 

“Ha! ha! ha!” cried Sanchez with a frightful 
laugh, “you call to me!” 

“But what have I done.^” 

“What have you done — what have you done — 
Ah! my God! is this slave mad.^” 

“Mad from terror and despair, it is true, master, 
have pity, control yourself!” 

“And I, who thought I might forgive her!” 

At that moment a yell of agony came from the 
other end of the plantation. 

“Ah! it is Dominique’s voice!” cried Lakhmi. 

“You think so,” said the young man intercepting 
her passage. 

“I am sure of it. Master, what is happening 

“You have dared to disobey, and you cannot 
guess .?” 

A second cry, more heartrending than the first, 
reached their ears. 

“Ah! — Dominqiue — they are killing him! Let 
me pass, you can kill me afterwards if you like !” 

“Where do you wish to go to.^^” 

“To help Dominiaue.” 


THE TAYA 


95 


“Very well, come then!” 

And taking a firm hold of the young girl’s wrist 
he dragged her violently out of the hut. 

At that moment a bright flash of lightning illum- 
inated the horizon. Sanchez walked hurriedly on 
towards the side opposite to where the cries came 
from. 

“It is not there!” cried Lakhmi trying to resist. 

“It does not matter, come.” 

No,” she said, standing still and pulling against 
him, “I will not go farther!” 

We will see.” 

“Have mercy! You are hurting me — Ah! I 
see now, you have deceived me. It is you, I know 
now, you who ordered that Dominique — But be 
merciful to him, master! I will not love him any 
more, I swear it! I will hate him, if you wish, 
but only spare him, let him live! let him live!” 

“Oh! again that awful cry! I will — I will — ” 

She had fallen on her knees wild with terror. 

But the marquis was inexorable and dragged her 
along the path, the small sharp stones cutting into 
Lakhmi’s flesh as they advanced, 

“Ah! you wished to see ? — Well then, look 
there !” 

They had arrived at a spot where a large clear- 


96 


THE TAYA 


ance afforded them an uninterrupted view of the 
plantation. 

‘‘Look, that is how I avenge myself!” 

As he said these words, Sanchez took the young 
girl’s head between his hands and held it in a 
certain direction from where a bright light shone. 
There, in the middle of a circle of lighted torches 
carried by negroes, Lakhmi saw a man firmly bound 
and lying at full length on his face, in such a posi- 
tion that his back was fully exposed. Near him, 
a big negro brandished the terrible taya, each stroke 
of which tore the skin off the victim, leaving an 
open wound from which the blood flowed copiously. 
A yell of agony followed each stroke. Never, in 
any similar torture, had the executioner struck with 
such force; but knowing that in Dominique’s case 
death was inevitable, Gomez had given orders to 
try to bring the mulatto's sufferings to an end as 
quickly as possible. 

The continual recurring flashes of lightning, 
seeming to give added effect to the rapid strokes 
of the cruel taya, as the groans of the now expiring 
victim, mingled with the rolling of the echoing 
thunder. Lakhmi was unable to bear the horror 
of it. In vain Dominique, summoning what little 
strength remained to him, sent forth a last appeal 


THE TAAY 


97 


in her direction ; she did not hear him, she had 
fainted. Feeling her sinking on the ground, San- 
chez took her up in his arms, and walking as 
quickly as his burden would allow, gained the spot 
where he had given orders to Manoel to wait for 
him with Gazella. 


CHAPTER VIL 


THE HUMAN FEAST. 

Aided by the black, Sanchez placed the still un- 
conscious girl in front of him on Gazella’s saddle, 
to which he bound her firmly. 

Shivering with terror at the sound of the cries 
which had reached his ears, Manoel obeyed his 
master without daring to say one word. 

Sanchez mounted Gazella. 

“Give me the gun and cartouche box. Now, as 
you value your life, you know and have seen noth- 
ing, or else, remember Dominique!” 

This was the signal for the marquis’ departure. 

Using both spurs, he started oft at a full gallop. 
In the darkness, his ride had something fantastic, 
recalling the exploits of some hero in an ancient 
ballad. He covered the space as if by magic, 
sometimes plunging in deepest darkness, again ap- 
pearing bathed in the light of the vivid flashes 
which tore aside the thick veil of blackness with 
each clap of thunder. 


98 


THE HUMAN FEAST 


99 


The sight of Dominique’s blood, his cries, the 
tumult of the storm, Lakhmi’s avowals and the 
thirst for vengeance, made him feverish and giddy. 
The bounds of the spirited animal he rode also 
excited him to the pitch of madness, and helped to 
arouse Lakhmi from her swoon. 

“Where am ir 

“With me, the master.” 

“Ah! the executioner!” exclaimed Lakhmi. 

“Not yet,” replied Sanchez, “not yet!” 

And holding the young girl against him with such 
frenzy that one might have supposd he wished to 
strangle her, he spurred on Gazella with renewed 
fury. 

“Dominique!” cried Lakhmi with a sob — “my 
poor Dominique;” 

“Peace, wretched girl, peace!” 

Silence followed this imperious order, and noth- 
ing was now heard but the noise of the tempest 
until Sanchez stopped his horse. 

He dismounted and led Gazella to a tree. That 
done, he untied Lakhmi, lifted her again in his 
arms, and entered a pathway which led up a hill, 
from which the water descended in torrents. He 
arrived after a rather steep ascent at a large deep 
ravine where the darkness seemed even more 
obscure. There he stopped. 

7E 


lOO 


THE HUMAN FEAST 


“Give me your hands/’ he said. 

Helpless from grief, Lakhmi mechanically 
obeyed. In an instant, Sanchez placed a strong 
cord around the slave’s wrists and fastened them 
behind her back. The cord cut into her flesh, and 
Lakhmi gave a cry of pain. Sanchez took no notice, 
but with another cord dragged her roughly back- 
wards to a tree to which he bound her, but instead 
of striking the young girl, as she expected, he 
withdrew to some distance, ascended the side of 
the ravine, lay down on the damp ground, with 
his loaded gun near his hand. From there, with 
clenched teeth, pale as a spectre, he fixed a look 
of hatred on his victim. All his love for her had 
vanished; hope, love, desires, his heart had ban- 
ished all, leaving room only for vengeance. 

Not having yet any idea of the frightful fate re- 
served for her, Lakhmi, placing her hope in God, 
prayed for Dominique and herself. Suddenly a 
roar of rage echoed through the rocks. A cry of 
wild terror answered it. 

“Ah! the jaguars!” 

Fright overcame her grief. Unaerstanding at 
last Sanchez’ infernal plan, Lakhmi gave way to 
her trembling fears and despair at the terrible 
death confronting her, and in a delirium of terror 
tried to escape from it. 


THE HUMAN FEAST 


lOI 


‘‘Master, it is the jaguar, he is coming — Master 
— mercy — mercy 

The roars had now increased in loudness, an- 
nouncing that the marquis' redoubtable accomplice 
was drawing nearer. 

“Kill me, but with one blow, since I must die!” 
cried Lakhmi in a paroxysm of terror, “Oh! 
master, kill me, I will love you. I will love you. 
Ah! I am afraid! he is coming. Fire — mercy — 
lire!’’ 

Sanchez’s hair stood erect on his head. He 
levelled his gun. The young girl struggled in vain 
to escape from her bonds. But at last, worn out 
with the uselessness of her attempts, she stopped, 
but only to recommence with redoubled energy. 
Flashes of lightning lighted up this fearful scene 
at short intervals. The figure of the jaguar could 
be seen advancing nearer; then sudden a cry, one 
single cry, but indefinable, compressing a world 
of suffering, came from Lakhmi. 

There in the midst of the silence which follo\^efd 
each clash of thunder, could be heard the awful 
sounds of bones cracking, flesh tearing, lapping up 
of blood, succeeded by the hideous, satisfied sighs 
of the jaguar as he licked his lips. At this moment, 
a detonation more formidable than any that had 


102 


THE HUMANf FEAST 


yet been heard, crashed through the atmosphere, 
and the bolt fell within ten feet of where Sanchez 
lay. 

“Kill me, fire!” cried Lakhmi. 

The executioner listened to this last prayer. He 
lifted his gun, fired, and all was silent. 

***** 

When, still under the empire of the indescrib- 
able horror which took possession of him almost as 
soon as he had accomplished his crime, Sanchez, 
having mounted Gazella found himself a short dis- 
tance from the huts of the slaves, he’ perceived a 
band of men leaving one of the huts and walking 
in the direction of the mountains. It was Domi- 
nique’s funeral convoy, who, with lighted torches, 
were wending their way in silence towards the 
burial grounds consecrated to the use of slaves be- 
longing to the d’Aviella family. 


PART II. 


A HUSBAND’S VENGEANCE. 
CHAPTER I. 

A DAUGHTER TO MARRY. 

Six years after the events we have narrated, one 
fine morning in October, two people were break- 
fasting together in the dining-room of a handsome 
residence in the Chauss^ d’Antin in Paris. One 
was a man about sixty years of age, with a singu- 
larly mild and benevolent expression. His features 
were regular and bore that impress of austerity 
which work and a habit of reflection imparts. 
Hair, silvered by age, shaded a forehead rendered 
more expansive by the advance of time. His 
dress, although severely simple, was in the best 
taste, revealing the wearer to be a man of the 
world, as his features unmistakably denoted his 
benevolence of character. The other was a young 
girl of marvelous beauty. Tall, slender, exqui- 
sitely made, carrying on the form of a goddess, the 
103 


104 


A DAUGHTER TO MARRY 


head of a seraph, framed in a luxuriant quantity of 
hair of that blonde hue, properly belonging to 
Faust's Marguerite. Her almond shaped eyes of a 
velvety blackness, and adorned with long silky 
lashes, imparted an uncommon air to her whole 
aspect while her hair, drawn back from her smooth 
white forehead, and simply confined by a comb at 
the back of her head, helped to heighten the effect. 

On this occasion she was enveloped in a peignoir 
of pale-green silk, a cord of the same tint, encir- 
cled her graceful waist, and from the wide sleeves 
of this garment escaped waves of lace draping her 
shapely hands with their long fingers and rose tin- 
ted polished nails. 

Perched on a chair near her was a little dog, 
with ears erect, and about the size of a man’s shut 
fist, and as white as snow. 

The repast was over. A footman in rich livery 
served the coffee. The aroma of mocha perfumed 
the apartment. The old man breathed in the 
warm vapors with a keen air of enjoyment, then 
tore open the bands of a paper lying within his 
reach and proceeded to glance over the contents 
rapidly. 

“Come, Magnet,” said the lovely girl, and taking 
the little dog on her knee, she began stufhng the 
animal with sugar. 


A DAUGHTER TO MARRY 


los 


“What a little darling you are!” 

And the caresses recommenced. 

The footman went out. As soon as he had dis- 
appeared) the old man laid down his paper, and 
began to stir in a mechanical manner the fragrant 
tonic in the cup of sevres placed before him. 
Although to an ordinary observer he appeared to 
be absorbed in this occupation, those who knew him 
better could have easily divined that his thoughts 
were fixed on some grave subject. 

“What is the matter with you, father?” she asked, 
replacing Magnet on the chair from which she had 
taken him a few minutes before. 

“I have something very serious to say to you, 
and on a subject which has occupied my thoughts 
for some months past, Clotilde,” the old man replied 
after a short silence. 

“For six months past! and you have never 
spoken of it until to-day?” 

“Yes, I hoped you would have opened the subject 
in question yourself.” 

“How very solemn you look! You almost 
frighten me!” 

“It is in fact, a very serious matter.” 

“Tell me what it is, father. I am ready to listen.” 

The old man carried his cup to his lips, and said: 


A DAUGHTER TO MARRY 


IO0 

“You are now eighteen years old, my child, and 
I will soon complete my sixtieth year; our only 
relation is my brother Samuel, my senior by ten 
years; death might come to either of us at any 
moment, without warning.*’ 

“Oh! father, what a thought!” 

“It is only as a matter of prudent foresight that 
I wish you to regard it ; there is no occasion to 
alarm yourself. Only answer me this: if such a 
misfortune did happen, what would you do, alone 
in the world .J”* 

“How do I know! I could not survive your loss, 
my darling father. It would kill me.” 

“No, Clotilde, I lost your dear mother; and I 
also thought on that day, that it would be my last, 
and I am living still. By imposing these cruel 
sufferings of losing those we love, nature has, with 
admirable foresight, also given us the strength to 
support them. Time heals these severe wounds 
and softens them by transforming them in the end 
into memories sacred as they are sad. What I 
wish you to think about seriously now, is the 
choice of a husband.” 

“A husband!” exclaimed Clotilde, in surprise, “I 
have never even dreamed of it.” 

“That is why I speak of it. It is my duty as 


A DAUGHTER TO MARRY 


107 


your father to make you think of it, my spoiled 
darling.” 

“I hardly know how to answer you, father; the 
future is distant; the present suffices for me; I am 
as happy as I . can be, and besides, I am heart 
whole up to the present. I cannot marry until I 
meet some one whoip I like.” 

“Of course not, you are quite right.’' 

“Here is my husband, Magnet, the most charm- 
ing of all my admirers. Are you not, pet.^” 

The little dog received some fresh caresses. 

“You are joking, Clotilde,” said the old man; 
“do try to be serious, to please me, for a moment.” 

“Very well, father, now I promise to be serious.” 

“Admitting your principles to be all that is right, 
and without any desire to force your choice in any 
way, I think it necessary to impress upon you, that 
our respective positions demand imperiously that 
you marry.” 

“Demand.J^” 

“Yes; an enormous responsibility rests on me, 
I have always supported it with happiness, it is 
true; but there are duties exacted in this life which 
cannot be neglected with impunity. You can have 
no desire to die an old maid.?” 

“I don’t think so.” 


io8 


A DAUGHTER TO MARRY 


‘‘Then why wait? Lovers are not wanting. 
You can choose among them, and I will approve 
your choice, whoever he may be, I promise you in 
advance, feeling confident that the one you prefer 
will be worthy of you. Take what time you may 
think necessary to decide, but do not defer search- 
ing your heart, with the firm i;esolution that it must 
not remain too long indifferent. I do not speak to 
you, my child, as a blind father, or as a rigid 
censor, but as an old friend, whose experience of 
life forces him to urge you to take an inevitable 
step.” 

“Very well, then, father! let it be so!” said 
Clotilde, “you have convinced me; I shall make 
my choice, I promise you.” 

“Within what length of time.?” 

“A year, father.” 

“I grant you that with all my heart. Marriage 
is the most serious act of one's life, above all for 
a woman; and must not be entered into too lightly.” 

He got up as he pronounced these last words and 
drawing his daughter towards him, pressed a loving 
kiss on her forehead. 

At this moment, the footman entered. 

“What is it, Joseph?” asked the old man. 

“M. Duronget sends you this, sir,” replied Joseph 


A DAUGHTER TO MARRY 


109 


holding out to his master a silver salver on which 
lay a visiting card. 

The old man took it up and read it. 

“The marquis!” he said; “is the marquis there.^^” 
^‘He is waiting in the study for you, sir.” 

“I will go to him. You must excuse me, Clo- 
tilde. Business calls me away; we shall resume 
our conversation at another time.” 

“There is no necessity, father Do we not un- 
derstand each other perfectly 

“That is fortunate! Then you will keep your 
promise.^” 

“I enter into a formal engagement to do so.” 
“Thank you, my dear child.” 

A second kiss, more tender than the last, accom- 
panied this sentence of approval, and the old man 
went out with the footman* 

The visitor who had sent in his card, to the 
banker, Isaac Schunberg, whose acquaintance we 
have just made, was the Marquis d’Aviella, to 
whose terrible jealousy Dominique and Lakhmi had 
been so tragically sacrificed. The cruel, savage 
tempered youth, had, in six years, developed into 
a handsome young man, with regular features, and 
a thoughtful expression of countenance, offering a 
perfect resemblance to the portrait we have already 


no 


A DAUGHTER TO MARRY 


described as being in the chateau. He got up as 
Schunberg entered the elegantly fitted up study. 

“I fear I have disturbed you,^’ he said advancing 
to meet the old man, “and beg to offer a thousand 
apologies.” 

“No apology is necessary, Monsieur le Marquis. 
I have been expecting you for some days, through 
a letter from the house of Cartellas & Co. of Rio, 
placing in my hands the sum of 500,000 francs to 
your credit, and announcing that you would soon 
arrive in Paris.” 

“The Marchioness d’Aviella, my mother, has 
accompanied me; we traveled more slowly than I 
expected we would. Since my father’s death, the 
marchioness’ health has been very delicate and 
we were obliged to rest at frequent stages between 
Marseilles and Paris. I wished to see you person- 
ally, Monsieur Schunberg, in order to inform you 
that, from information received from Cartellas & 
Co., my mother and I intend placing in your care 
the fortune we realised before leaving Brazil.” 

“I feel much honored by this mark of confidence, 
Monsieur le Marquis, and I will endeavor to show 
myself worthy of it.” 

“I have not the slightest doubt on that subject, 
Monsieur Schunberg. I have a draft here for three 


A DAUGHTER TO MARRY 


III 


million francs on your house, and I beg you will 
place it to our credit, I mean, my mother’s and 
my own.” 

“Must the amount be divided in two different 
sums.J^” 

“No. Two millions are for the marchioness, the 
third is for me. The division you mention will 
only be made on the day of my marriage.” 

Sanchez’s visit to the banker terminated after 
exchanging some mutually polite compliments and 
making arrangements for receiving the large deposit 
to be made with Clotilde’s father. 


CHAPTER II. 

A FORTUNE HUNTER. 

Isaac Schunberg was one of the princes of the 
financial world, and Clotilde was his only child. 
The exceptionally cordial manner in which he had 
received Sanchez, arose from the manner in which 
the bank at Rio had recommended this new custo- 
mer. The banker was not only a capable man of 
business, he was a sensible man knowing exactly 
what was due to every one. By recommending 
the banker to the marquis, the house of Cartillas 
& Co. at Rio, had only been led by the echo of 
public opinion. 

The banker had been as good a husband as he 
was now a father; he had loved his wife fondly, 
and when an attack of peritonitis carried away the 
companion of his laborious life, he lavished on his 
new born child all the affection he had hitherto 
bestowed on the mother. Clotilde, besides, was 
the most attractive child possible to imagine, as 
she was now, at the date of the Marquis d’ Aviella’s 
112 


A FORTUNE HUNTER 


II3 

arrival in Paris, the most fascinating young girl 
to be seen. She was equal to Lakhmi in beauty, 
and nature, in making them both so beautiful, so 
perfect, and yet so different, seemed desirous of 
proving the multiplicity of the gifts at her disposal. 

At the moment when we see Clotilde Schunberg 
for the first time, she had been in society for two 
years, where her introduction had made a great 
sensation, for she was not only one of the wealthiest 
heiresses in Paris, but one of the lovliest girls there. 

The only woman who possessed any authority 
over her was the Baroness de Luneville, a worldly 
member of the Faubourg aristocracy, of a skeptical, 
sarcastic turn of mind, little fitted to instill noble 
ideas of men and things into the heart of the 
banker’s daughter. The admirers of Clotilde were 
transformed, thanks to the baroness’ mocking wit, 
into fortune hunters, and besides, the young girl 
took too much delight in worldly pleasures to find 
time to attach the slightest importance to the 
numerous lovers sighing around her. In spite of 
this indifference, her admirers were not discouraged, 
and their number was always on the increase. 

The one most worthy of attention was a hand- 
some young fellow of about thirty, with fine 
features, distinguished manners and an accom- 


A FORTUNE HUNTER 


II4 

plished man of the world in the highest acceptation 
of the term. Very amiable, with a highly culti- 
vated intellect, and a ready wit, he had won for 
himself a reputation in the fashionable world. We 
have already seen him at the lawyer’s, Dupuys. 

His name was George de Maurange. 

If Clotilde, besieged by admirers as she was, 
had had the time to distinguish any one individual, 
Monsieur de Maurange would have had more chance 
of fixinng her attention than any other; but Clo- 
tilde accorded preference to no one. George 
waited patiently, for under the most attractive 
manner was hidden unvarying perseverance and 
an iron will. He had drawn these two useful 
qualities from the fountain head of misfortune. 
The last descendant of an honorable family in 
Poitoxn, George de Maurange was, at the age of 
twenty-one years, the possessor of a fortune of 
eight hundred thousand francs. 

Launched into the brilliant whirlpool of the gay 
capital, he lost no time in joining the circle of those 
young fools, who considered it the acme of good 
taste and high style to ruin themselves in the most 
idiotic manner possible. 

George, however, although rapidly following in 
the downward path, did not allow himself to in- 


A FORTUNE HUNTER 


II5 

dulge in such prodigal wastefulness as might have 
been expected from one of his age and strong pas- 
sions. 

There was calculation in his character, and if he 
did spend his money lavishly, it was after he had 
counted each handful. Nevertheless, after a few 
years he had only forty thousand francs left with 
which to await the course of events; but experience 
had steeled his heart, and he was resolved hence- 
forth to fight the battle of life bravely and unscru- 
pulously. 

With a good name, youth, many physical ad- 
vantages, and forty thousand francs of capital, he 
had all that was necessary to command success. 

He allowed himself two years to attain the end 
he had in view, win a fortune, and divided his 
pecuniary resources accordingly. 

He formed a hundred different projects before 
deciding, and finally resolved to make a wealthy 
marriage. 

Not desirous of coming too often in contact with 
his old companions in dissipation — people he con- 
sidered useless — thanks to some distant connection 
he had in the Faubourg Saint Germain, he was 
soon presented to the most exclusive circles in 
Paris, where his wit and the charm of his manner, 

8E 


A FORTUNE HUNTER 


I l6 

marked his true character. In spite of this, George 
sought a long time for the Pactolus of eighteen 
years whom he desired to find, and on whom he 
had based all his hopes of a brilliant future; but 
at the moment, when tired of waiting he was on 
the point of proposing to a wealthy American girl, 
he met Clotilde Schunberg. 

The moment he saw her, our fortune hunter 
swore that he would become the banker’s son-in- 
law. From that hour he studied the young girl 
with an experienced eye, joining to all the apti- 
tudes of a physiognomist, the power of a strong 
will. He alone read the true character of Clotilde, 
and seeing that he must leave to this innocent 
minded young girl the time to single him out for 
notice among the crowd of admirers in her train, 
he waited patiently the moment to take a decisive 
step, for everything depended on making himself 
loved by the banker’s daughter. 

De Maurange knew that Clotilde’s princely 
fortune permitted her to marry a poor man, he 
also knew how Schunberg idolized his daughter, 
and was persuaded that the man of her choice 
would be accepted and welcomed by him as a son- 
in-law. 

Rivals were not wanting, but a superstitious 


A FORTUNE HUNTER 


II7 


feeling prevented him from being afraid of them. 
Clotilde in the end would be his, he felt sure. 

Always in her close vicinity, at least in the eyes 
of the world, but most careful not to compromise 
her in any way, he gave her his undivided atten- 
tion. To amuse, to interest her, was the one end 
he now had in view. But so far, to judge from 
Clotilde’s manner in receiving this homage, his 
hopes were as far as ever from being realized. 

She was gracious towards George, but nothing 
more, and the latter understood that any sudden 
avowal on his part would seriously compromise his 
chances. 

De Maurange saw the moment arrive when to 
hesitate would be as grave a mistake as to declare 
himself too suddenly. 

That happened at the end of the winter. He 
himself fixed his marriage for Easter, and decided 
to make every effort to obtain this end. His atten- 
tions became more marked. He danced with Clo- 
tilde several times in one evening, and made him- 
self as witty as he was agreeable. At a ball given 
by the Baroness de Luneville. who received once 
a fortnight on a princely scale, George went up to 
Clotilde to claim her for a waltz. 

“Ahl Monsieur de Maurange, excuse me,” she 


ii8 


A FORTUNE HUNTER 


said looking up with a lovely smile, “I had forgot- 
ten you and I have promised this dance to another 
gentleman.” 

The gentleman alluded to bowed coldly. 

“He is a foreigner,” said Clotilde, “and I know 
I can count upon your courtesy to yield your rights 
to him.” 

“How do you think I could refuse you, made- 
moiselle But what am I to have in exchange for 
this very great sacrifice on my part.?” 

“An equivolant; the second waltz.” 

“Thanks, mademoiselle,” said de Maurange 
bowing with a gracious smile, under which he con- 
cealed his annoyance. 

Led away by her partner, Clotilde mingled with 
the waltzers. 

While speaking to the banker’s daughter, George 
had been careful to examine the stranger she had 
preferred to him. 

The two men had only exchanged one look, but 
it seemed to establish a mutual enmity between 
them which was to last forever. 

Strange presentiments do occur at times. With- 
out being able to determine why, de Maurange 
divined a rival in the new comer, and the good 
looks and distinguished bearing of the stranger, 
convinced him he was one to be dreaded. 


A FORTUNE HUNTER 


II9 

“Gaston, my dear fellow, do you know the man 
who is dancing with Mile. Schunberg ?” 

“Yes.” 

“Who is he.?” 

“He is a Portuguese Brazilian or rather, a Bra- 
zilian born in Portugal, and very wealthy.” 

“His name?” 

“The Marquis Sanchez d’Aviella.” 


CHAPTER III. 


THE gUARREL. 

Isaac Schunberg took a sincere pleasure in in- 
troducing the young marquis to the many attrac- 
tions of the capital. In society, his young friend 
could not but do him honor. Sanchez’s dark 
beauty, the rather haughty distinction of his man- 
ner, his ancient family and great wealth, secured 
for him a welcome everywhere. To see him in the 
midst of the Parisian fetes, no one would have 
recognized in him the terrible and vindictive assas- 
sin of poor Lakhmi. He himself had at last suc- 
ceeded in banishing the remembrance of the horri- 
ble night which had witnessed the accomplishment 
of his double vengeance. Slaves ! It was foolish 
of him to waste a thought on them! It is true, 
Lakhmi had been his first love, and first love, even 
though no incident underlies it, always leaves traces 
never to be effaced in the heart. It is on the 
hardest marble that his penetrating arrow traces 
this divine sentence, a whole poem in itself, 

120 


THE QUARREL 


I2I 


love/’ and nothing, neither time nor space can 
make the traces disappear. 

Since this violent and unfortunate passion which 
had led him to the commission of a horrible crime, 
Sanchez had had numerous intrigues. His success 
with other women had obliterated the memory of 
Lakhmi’s disdain, but not one of them had suc- 
ceeded in making that secret fibre in his heart 
vibrate, as the young slave had done. 

Paris is the city of marvels. All aristocracies 
vie with each other in displaying their wealth and 
splendor. Sanchez was enchanted. He could not 
struggle against the many seductions he encount- 
ered at each step. 

Among all the charming young girls, flowers of 
the civilization of Europe, more womanly than 
Eve in heart, more beautiful than Venus in form, 
more gracious than the Willis, uniting every attrac- 
tion to every charm, the one who appealed most 
to his heart and imagination, was Clotilde Schun- 
berg. 

When Isaac presented him to his daughter, 
Sanchez was dazzled at the first instant. Clotilde 
was simply dressed, although in perfect taste, but 
her fresh young beauty needed nothing to show off 
its brightness. As to the first impression produced 


122 


THE QUARREL 


on Clotilde by Sanchez, it was favorable, but that 
was all. 

“My daughter,” Schunberg had said when Clo- 
tilde entered the room ; then turning to her: “Mon- 
sieur le Marquis d’Aviella,” he added, designating 
Sanchez. 

The marquis bowed respectfully. Clotilde re- 
turned his salute with exquisite grace, full of 
reserve but yet cordially. 

Parisian women alone understand the secret of 
how to welcome, where a smile means everything, 
and Clotilde was a Parisian to the tips of her 
fingers. Sanchez gazed at her, surprised and 
charmed beyond description. 

“I can promise you a new partner in Monsieur le 
Marquis, my dear,” continued Schunberg, “for he 
has just told me that he wishes to enter our Pari- 
sian circles, and this evening I am going to pre- 
sent him to your god-mother.” 

“Ah! Monsieur Schunberg, you ought not to 
alarm mademoiselle,” said Sanchez. “If I am a 
competent judge, a new arrival among her crowd 
of admirers, must only prove an additional embar- 
rassment to her.” 

“You doubt our hospitality then. Monsieur le Mar- 
quis replied Clotilde. “Any compatriot introduced 


THE QUARREL 


123 


by my father would be welcomed by me; how 
much more so a stranger? I will write your name 
down for Madame de Luneville’s ball, and you 
shall have the first waltz.” 

“I accept gratefully, mademoiselle, but I ought 
to warn you that I am a very wretched dancer.” 

‘‘Such a confession is due to your modesty, I 
am sure; in any case, I promise to be indulgent.” 

“I will do my best not to take too much advant- 
age of this generous sentiment, mademoiselle.” 

“Then that is decided,” interrupted Schunberg. 
“Clotilde, I prophecy, will find in you a partner 
worthy of her.” 

“Father.” 

“Don't pretend to be so very modest! That 
would be trouble thrown away.” 

“I will venture to say,” interrupted the marquis, 
“that mademoiselle in dancing, as in beauty, will 
not find her equal in any Paris drawing-room.” 

The compliment was rather plain spoken, but 
Schunberg was too sincere an admirer of his 
daughter to feel offended and Clotilde alone was 
visibly embarrassed. Sanchez hastened to repair 
his error. 

“Excuse me,” he said, “I am conducting myself 
like a savage. I had no right to speak as I thought, 


124^ 


THE QUARREL 


but if sincerity can palliate my offense, I merit 
forgiveness.” 

‘‘That is what I call a very fine young man,” said 
Schunberg after Sanchez had left; “don’t you 
agree with me, Clotilde.?” 

“He is very agreeable, father,” she replied un- 
affectedly. 

It was on account of what took place at this 
interview that George de Maurange had been 
obliged to yield his place to Sanchez. From that 
moment a secret jealousy existed between the two 
men. 

During the next few weeks, the rivals found a 
hundred additional motives to add to their mutual 
hatred. 

Sanchez was deeply in love with Clotilde ; he did 
not conceal his feelings from her, without, how- 
ever, declaring himself in so many words. 

The girl was a thorough woman of the world and 
this, in addition to her fascination, beauty and 
grace completely conquered the young marquis. 

He confessed all to his mother, and the mar- 
chioness, although she saw with regret, her son 
aspire to a woman without title, was won also by 
Clotilde’s many attractions, and ended by approv- 
ing completely of her son’s choice. 


THE QUARREL 


125 


“Would you like me to speak to Monsieur Schun- 
berg?” she asked more than a hundred times. 

“No, not yet, mother, not yet; I am not sure 
she loves me.” 

“And why should you doubt it, my son.?” 

“Never mind, mother, wait a little yet, I beg'of 
you.” 

In de Maurange’s case, the unmistakable atten- 
tions of the marquis threatened to demolish all his 
plans for the future. The triumph of his rival 
would be his ruin; more even; poverty, perhaps 
even suicide. Not by any means so much in love 
as Sanchez, he was better able to judge of the 
daily progress his rival made in Clotilde’s affec- 
tions. 

Unknown to herself, the young Portuguese 
occupied her thoughts more and more each day, 
and drew her away from George. She found in 
him a singular attraction which the other did not 
possess. The marquis’ looks spoke more eloquently. 
Sanchez’s black eyes had more fire in them than 
George’s blue ones. But the more desirous the 
latter seemed to bring things to a crisis, the more 
determined Glotilde was to profit by the delay 
accorded by her father. 

She experienced the delight of a novice in the 


126 


THE QUARREL 


world and its pleasures. The admiration of her 
numerous train of admirers pleased her exceedingly. 
It was a sort of innocent, unrestrained coquettish- 
ness, a virgin fancy, the caprice of a child to her. 

De Maurange and the marquis were equal favor- 
ites with her. 

“When I love either one or the other, she said 
to herself, “I will think of him alone.” 

And she was waiting until she should love San- 
chez; for if de Maurange was her ideal of the dis- 
tinguished courteous husband she had dreamed of 
d’Aviella, whose fanciful, headstrong disposition, 
appealed more directly to the romantic side of her 
character. 

George, although superior to all the others in 
Clotilde’s eyes, still bore some resemblance to 
them, while Sanchez was unlike any one. His 
impulses, even the most passionate, displayed 
great simplicity, while on the contrary, everything 
in his rival betrayed the calculating diplomat. 

When the marquis put his arm round Clotilde’s 
waist to mingle with the waltzers, she could not 
deny the power he possessed over her. He was 
silent, but his eyes flashed lightning; his hand 
held in an almost convulsive clasp, the slender 
fingers of the young girl ; she felt he loved her. 


THE QUARREL 


127 


This eloquent silence spoke more to her heart than 
all the cleverly constructed compliments of George. 
Clotilde would fain have melted the iciness of the 
one and moderated the ardor of the other, for if 
George’s coolness irritated her, the fiery nature 
she had divined in Sanchez, had inspired her with 
terror. 

The most insignificant details betrayed the secret 
thoughts of the rivals. 

For example, the marquis hardly ever invited 
her for any dance but the waltz; George on the 
contrary preferred the quadrille, which enabled him 
to display all the resources of his wit. 

Sanchez did not perceive this difference at first, 
but one evening, when de Maurange was dancing 
a quadrille with Clotilde, the marquis’ jealousy was 
aroused, as formerly, it had been by Dominique. 

“How cruel you are.'^” George, protected by the 
noise of the orchestra, was saying to Clotilde, “and 
what sort of heart can you have to trifle with the 
profound love you have inspired in me! I endure 
tortures and dare not even complain, since my 
suffering is caused by you.” 

“What a melancholy preamble!” said Clotilde 
smiling. 

“Ah! do not laugh at me. I see how things are. 


128 


THE QUARREL 


But I implore you to have pity on me, and not 
dance so frequently with the Marquis d’Aviella!” 

“But it seems to me I do not dance with him 
more than with you.” 

“Am I then only one of a crowd, that you can 
answer me like that?” 

“The marquis is my father’s friend.” 

“He loves you.” 

“Monsieur de Maurange!” 

“Pardon my frankness, mademoiselle, but he does 
love you.” 

“You are better informed than I am, it seems?” 

“I am too jealous of him to make any mistake.” 

“Well! I suppose you are right! Can I prevent 
the marquis from liking me?” 

“You ought to.” 

“It seems to me you are inclined to be selfish.” 

“I was not thinking of myself.” 

“And may I ask of whom then?” 

“Of you.” 

“I do not understand you. Please explain. I 
do not like enigmas.” 

“The marquis is my rival; like me, he aspires to 
your hand. Consider well before you give him the 
preference.” 

“Ah! take care; one word more and you will 


THE QUARREL 


129 


calumniate him. I warn you, that I will no more 
permit you to speak against him to me, than I 
would Monsieur d’Aviella, if he attempted, by any 
chance, to poison my mind against you.’^ 

“What you designate calumny, is only the truth, 
I give you my word of honor; and it concerns your 
own happiness more than mine. I know men, 
and I have my own opinion about the marquis. 
Under an attractive exterior, he hides, be assured 
of it, a lava capable of annihilating any obstacle 
standing between him and the gratification of his 
passion. The love, as well as the hate of such 
natures is terrible. If I were a woman, I would 
be afraid to belong to the Marquis d’Aviella. 
There is only a vague suspicion of the mutual an- 
tipathy existing between him and me, and if he 
could have killed me with a look, he would have 
done so twenty times already; I read it in his eyes. 
For you, for you, above all, this terrible love is to 
be dreaded.” 

These words, pronounced with great earnestness, 
plunged the banker’s daughter into deep thought. 

The quadrille had ended some minutes already, 
and yet she remained motionless, as if still listen- 
ing to the words of her partner. Dark doubts were 
entering her mind. What George had just said 


130 


THE QUARREL 


coincided with her own secret fears, vague until 
then, but which now began to take definite shape. 

Recalled to herself by the prolonged silence of 
the orchestra: 

“Own that you have simply exercised a little 
diplomacy in trying to frighten me?” she said. 

De Maurange replied only by an almost imper- 
ceptible sign. Clotilde turned and beheld at about 
two steps from her, the marquis, pale as a specter, 
who advanced to her with a smile on his lips. 

“Will you be kind enough, mademoiselle,” said 
he to her, “to give me a quadrille?” 

“Impossible, Monsieur le Marquis, I have prom- 
ised them all.” 

“Is your partner among the privileged number?” 
aemanded Sanchez indicating George. 

“Yes.” 

“In that case, it is not to you, but to him, I 
must address myself. Will you have the goodness 
to grant the quadrille I am soliciting, Monsieur de 
Maurange?” 

“No, Monsieur le Marquis.” 

“You are not particularly obliging.” 

“Pardon me ; I have already been forced to make a 
sacrifice of the same nature for you, and it cost me 
so much, that of my own free will I have no desire 
to go through a similar experience.” 


THE QUARREL 


I3I 


“That is only just,” said Sanchez coldly. 

“You are not reasonable, Monsieur le Marquis,” 
said Clotilde, “your name is on my card for two 
waltzes this evening; what more can you desire?” 

“Very well then!” said Sanchez. “Since it is 
impossible this evening, deign, at least, to put 
down my name for a quadrille at the minister’s 
ball.” 

“Willingly.” 

“A thousand thanks!” 

Clotilde took her tablets and inscribed Sanchez’s 
name; then conducted back to her place by George, 
she was claimed by another partner for a polka. 

Some moments later the marquis joined George, 
who was standing alone in a little boudoir. 

“I forbid you to dance any more with Mademoi- 
selle Schunberg,” said Sanchez without any pre- 
amble. 

“Your weapons!” answered de Maurange tran- 
quilly, in a calm low voice. 

“You understand me then?” 

“Perfectly, as you see. Your weapons?” 

“Pistols, at three paces. One alone loaded; 
within an hour!” 

“Oh! oh! Monsieur le Marquis, you are going 
too quickly!” 

9E 


132 


THE QUARREL 


“You refuse?’’ 

“Yes and no. We are not in Brazil. I am 
quite ready to give you the satisafaction of trying 
to kill me, and to offer me the agreeable pleasure 
with regard to yourself, since by the laws of love 
and jealousy, one of us is one too many near 
Mademoiselle Schunberg, but I have had eight 
years at the fencing school, four as an assiduous 
attendant at the shooting gallery, and I do not 
want to sacrifice these little advantages. I will 
willingly fight you with the pistol, if such is your 
good pleasure, but according to the accepted rules.” 

“I cannot understand how a brave man can 
quarrel with the conditions of a combat whatever 
they may be.” 

“Permit me, my dear sir, hatred, of all passions, 
is the one most likely to mislead us, and you seem 
to be very much under its influence. To such a 
degree, that you have neglected other precautions 
that delicacy of feeling imposes on us. One thing 
is necessary, if we are to meet.” 

Sanchez made a movement of impatience. 

“Oh! keep your mind tranquil,” continued 
George, “we will fight; but first, I repeat, no one 
must suspect the true cause of our duel, for I un- 
derstand that in Brazil, as elsewhere, it is not 


THE QUARREL 


133 


customary to act lightly where a woman’s name is 
concerned. That we are to fight because we both 
love the same girl, is all very well between our- 
selves, but the time is past when two rivals can 
enter the lists carrying the colors of their lady 
loves, and we must keep the true reason of our 
encounter to ourselves.” 

“You are right; and what then — ” 

“What then, sir! Why it is very simple; in 
order that the true reason remains unknown, even 
from our seconds, we must find an apparent one; 
or whatever our respective imaginations suggest 
to us. Never can such a cannibal style of combat 
as you suggested a moment ago be justifiable. 
The question of mere courage has nothing to do 
with my refusal; for, in order to impose such 
terrible and unheard of condition on our seconds, 
it would be necessary to prove that the nature of 
the insult to be wiped away was such as to im- 
periously exact the death of one of us, and our 
habits and manners only admit of such extreme 
measures when our honor is called into question, 
not only directly, but when injury has been done 
to some woman nearly related to one. Made- 
moiselle de Schunberg is not my relation; I have 
neither mother nor sister.” 


134 


THE QUARREL 


“But I have a mother!” said Sanchez blind to 
every feeling but his jealousy. 

“But, Monsieur le Marquis, she has white hair!” 

And George forced Sanchez to lower his eyes in 
spite of himself. 

He continued: 

“We must find some other pretext for meeting, 
and fight seriously as becomes gentlemen who do 
not fight like charlatans, or for the sake of notoriety, 
and that is what I have to propose to you.” 

“How can it be done.^” 

“Meet me in an hour at the club. I will be 
there and shall accost you in a friendly manner so 
that no one will be able to suspect our real pur- 
pose. . We will take our places at the card table, 
and there seize the first opportunity which occurs.” 
“At play.J^” 

“Yes, is it not one of the great criterions of 
honor among men.^” 

“Yes, and I accept. In an hour.” 

“I will wait for you.” 

“I shall not keep you waiting.” 

De Maurange re-entered the ball-room. Isaac 
and his daughter were just leaving, while the 
banker was taking leave of the Baroness de Lun^- 
ville, George drew near to Clotilde, and said to 


THE QUARREL 


135 


her as he bowed his adieux, in such a manner that 
no one else could hear: 

“Very soon, I shall furnish you with reliable in- 
formation regarding the Marquis Sanchez d’Av- 
iella.” 

He then disappeared, gained the cloak room, 
and immediately left for the club. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE INSULT. 

While driving to the club, George, with that im- 
perturbable calm which he had always been able to 
preserve under the most trying circumstances, 
traced out for himself a plan of conduct which he 
determined not to depart from whatever events 
might come to pass. 

When de Maurange entered, in spite of the ad- 
vanced hour, several tables of ‘ecarte' and bouillote 
were in full swing. The great “perhaps,” of Musset, 
liable to spring forth from each spotted card, ap- 
pealed with a dumb eloquence to the imagination 
of the players. 

A few members of the club, talking and smoking, 
lolling on the cushioned seats near the fireplace, 
formed a calm contrast to the agitation of the rest 
of the room. Of the number of these last were 
Gaston d’ Artheville^ one of Madame de Lun^ville's 
guests, who had just arrived; Durouget, whose 
name has already been mentioned in this recital, 
136 


THE INSULT 


137 


then Monsieur de Chambly, an old beau, keeping 
up a hard fight against the encroachments of cor- 
pulency and baldness, gout and the advance of age. 

“Ah! here is de Maurange,” said Gaston, “you 
have followed my example and left the ball, my 
dear fellow. It was splendid, but one can have too 
much even of the best of things.” 

Two o’clock struck. Sanchez entered. 

For some moments George’s eyes had wandered 
alternately from the door to the time-piece and 
then from the time-piece to the door. 

“Oh! so you have come, my rival,” he said to 
himself when the marquis had made his appearance. 
“I am ready.” 

After bowing to d’Artheville and Durouget, San- 
chez advanced to de Maurange and said to him in 
a calm voice, but loud enough for those near him 
to hear: 

“Good evening again. Monsieur de Maurange!” 

“Good evening, marquis!” answered George cor- 
dially holding out his hand to the other. 

Sanchez made an effort, and touched it with the 
tips of his fingers. 

“The savage is calmer,” reflected George after a 
short examina.tion; “but I know him, and the least 
spark will cause him to explode like a barrel of 
gunpowder.” 


138 


THE INSULT 


Sanchez in fact was calmer, and this is the 
reason why: 

After his rival’s departure from the ball, he also 
came up to Clotilde, who notwithstanding Monsieur 
de Maurange’s last words, gave him a most gra- 
cious welcome. Mademoiselle Schunberg’s feel- 
ings had undergone a complete change in favor of 
the marquis, and she felt under an obligation to 
make up to him by a little extraj^ kindness, for the 
moment when she had been led to indulge in a 
feeling bordering on antipathy, which nothing she 
actually knew could justify. George’s adieu only 
helped to exaggerate her feelings. More in sym- 
pathy with Sanchez than de Maurange, she put a 
very unfavorable impression on the latter’s promise, 
and desiring to see the young Portuguese come 
honorably out of this secret trial, she gave him 
more encouragement than she had ever done before. 

“I am very angry with you,” she said to the 
marquis with a gracious smile which completely 
contradicted her words. 

“May I know the cause of your awful wrath?” 
said Sanchez recovering his usual sang froid in the 
sunshine of Clotilde’s smile. 

“Undoubtedly. A short time ago, when you 
asked for a quadrille at the minister’s ball, you 


THE INSULT 


J39 


wore a sinister air, for which I demand an expla- 
nation.*' 

The question came suddenly. Sanchez was at a 
loss how to answer it. His was a singular nature, 
a crater inside, sensitive on the surface. 

“What sinister air do you allude to.J*** 

“Oh! don't attempt any denial, Monsieur le 
Marquis; I know you well enough to read even your 
most secret thoughts.” 

The occasion was a perfect one; the young man 
did not allow it to escape. 

“Then,” said he, “you ought to know for a long 
time past why I cannot see you with another man’s 
arm round your waist, and not suffer keenly.” 

He had never gone so far. Clotilde in her turn 
was embarrassed. 

“I love you,” said Sanchez in a very low voice 
and in such a thrilling tone, that the avowal ad- 
mitted of no doubt. 

“Ah!” answered Clotilde blushing, “I shall not 
question you any more; you answer more than I 
asked.” 

“Does my confession displease you.^ — Have pity 
and do not condemn me. If you only knew — ” 

“You ask too much — ” 

“I implore, you mean to say. Is that not the 


140 tHE INSULT 

word to employ when one asks for happiness ?” 

“I will give you my answer at the Minister's 
ball." 

“Have I offended you? Do not leave me to 
think so." 

“No, since I have given you your quadrille, 
and that I mean to keep that engagement." 

Sanchez went away transported. 

For the moment he had even forgotten George. 
Yet he soon remembered his appointment and with 
the recovery of his memory, his hatred returned 
with renewed force, in a less excited degree, but 
with equal tenacity. He had faith in Clotilde's 
preference for him; but although now almost 
certain of winning her, he reflected that his 
triumph would not prevent de Maurange from 
loving the same woman he did, and his jealousy 
made him regard this love as a deadly outrage 
which called for vengeance. 

Such were the state of his feelings when George 
held out his hand to him. 

Circumstances soon tended to aid the plans of 
the two rivals. After a few moments of desultory 
conversation, kept up principally by Durouget and 
d’Atheville, the latter proposed a game of baccarat. 

De Chambly, Durouget, the marquis and two or 


THE INSULT 


I4I 

three other members of the club agreed with pleas- 
ure. They seated themselves round the table. 
Sanchez faced George, d’Atheville occupied the 
seat on his right, and Durouget on his left. 

Placed on George’s right, his friend de Chambly 
waited patiently for a hand which would enable 
him, he said in his foppish manner, to present a 
coup6 to a chirographical celebrity of the period 
whom he dishonored with his confidence. 

His vain efforts amused the players. 

“I very much fear that the coup6 you speak of, 
will never roll so quickly as your louis do this 
evening, my dear de Chambly,” said Durouget. 

De Chambly retorted by a borco which proved 
as unfortunate as the preceeding ones. 

George and Sanchez both observed a calm 
exterior. D’Aviella was on the lookout for the 
slightest pretext to pick a quarrel; de Maurange 
did not disturb himself, resolved to wait patiently 
for the occasion which was sure to come. He had 
determined that the blame should lie with his rival, 
reserving for himself the more dignified role which 
would tell in his favor afterwards. 

By a singular caprice of luck, the occasion so 
desired by Sanchez did not present itself. The 
game proceeded in the orthodox manner; only^ 


142 


THE INSULT 


each time that the cards came round to the two 
rivals, they only looked at them, without making a 
single offer, and consequently, had no opportunity 
for dispute. Then, some serious insult was nec- 
essary. “Play is one of the criterions of honor,” 
George had said, and the marquis wished to attack 
de Maurange’s very honor, so that no amicable 
arrangement could be possible. The delay irrita- 
ted Sanchez. At last de Maurange received a hand 
and decided to play. 

There was only five louis remaining of the note 
for a thousand francs which he had placed on the 
table when he joined the players. 

“Five louis!” he said placing the amount on his 
cards. 

“I see them,” said Sanchez. 

De Chambly got the bettter of him and forced him 
to withdraw. George won. Sanchez armed him- 
self with patience. He felt that it would be better 
to wait until the amount produced by the succes- 
sive winnings of his rival, was of some importance. 
At the end of five coups it amounted to two thou- 
sand francs. 

The lookers on began to get excited. 

“Banco!” said Sanchez throwing two bank notes 
before George. 


I 



t 










f 


y “ * 

•• 

A 


, I 




■* 


f 



Jl 


i 


\ 


» 







“you are all witnesses that monsieur le marquis has seriously insulted me. 


JJ 

1 



THE INSULT 


143 


‘‘Eight!” said George throwing down a pair'' 
royal. “There are four thousand francs.” 

“Banco!” repeated the marquis. 

The cards again favored de Maurange. 

“Eight thousand francs, gentlemen!” 

“Banco!” said the marquis a third time, empty- 
ing his pocket book. 

George again won. Sanchez, irritated by his 
adversary’s success, thought at one moment of 
forcing a quarrel then, but, on reflection, he con- 
tented himself with glaring across at George with 
a look of hatred which showed the other the degree 
of irritation the Portuguese had arrived at. With- 
out appearing to notice, de Maurange continued 
calmly, to deal the cards. 

“You have won, sir,” said he, a few moments 
later, pushing over to d’Aviella, the heap of gold 
and notes lying before him. 

“Can he be afraid,” said Sanchez to himself, “we 
shall see.” 

George soon enlightened him. 

“Did you remark how many pretty women were 
at the hotel de Lun^ville this evening, d’Ath^ville.?” 
said he, lighting a cigar. 

“My dear fellow! It is too great a pleasure for 
me to risk losing.” 


144 


THE INSULT 


^ “And to whom, my dear Paris, would you have 
offered the apple?” 

“The Countess de Rieux.” 

“Oh! a brunette!” 

“She is, however, very beautiful.” 

“You are right, but I admire dark women, as 
little as I do fair men.” 

M. de Chambly winced. In 1845 he had been 
fair. 

“Ah! you like fair women, de Maurange?” he 
said. 

“Yes, my dear friend, like Eve, Venus and Mar- 
guerite, the three sublime sinners of faith, paganism 
and romance. What is your opinion, marquis?” 

Sanchez could hardly restrain himself. 

“Play, play first, marquis; you can answer 
presently.” 

The marquis obeyed, and passed three times. 

De Maurange did not punt. 

Annoyed at this: 

“You are not playing. Monsieur de Maurange?” 

“I beg your pardon, I am only waiting.” 

“What for?” 

“Until the stake is worth playing for.” 

Sanchez very soon had six thousand francs be- 
fore him. 


THE INSULT 


145 


stake a thousand francs,” said de Chambly 
pushing the sum forward. 

“Well, Monsieur de Maurange said the marquis. 

“Banco! On my word!” 

“Under those circumstances, I pass the hand,” 
said Sanchez laying down his cards. 

All the players sprung up. 

“I beg your pardon, gentlemen,” said de Mau- 
range looking very pale; “you are all witnesses 
that Monsieur le Marquis has seriously insulted 
me. I think you can affirm that his conduct is 
altogether unjustifiable.” 

“Yes, yes,” several voices answered. 

“In Brazil we only play with money on the 
table,” explained Sanchez. 

“Possibly, sir,” replied George, “but we do not 
happen to be in Brazil now. I beg you to observe 
that having covered Monsieur de Chambly’s stake, 
the rules of the play interdict you from withdraw- 
ing. De Chambly, will you kindly lend me sixty 
thousand francs.” 

“Here they are,” said the old beau. 

“Banco!” repeated de Maurange, placing the 
sum before him. 

The marquis dealt the cards. 

Eight fell from George. 


146 


THE INSULT 


^‘Thanks, de Chambly, allow me to pay my debt. 
As for you, Monsieur le Marquis, I shall have the 
honor of sending you my seconds to-morrow.” 

No one ventured any remark at these words. 
They left the table. De Maurange took de Cham- 
bly aside. While he was speaking to him, d’Avi- 
ella begged d’ Artheville and Durouget to oblige him 
by being his seconds. George left the club some 
moments later, and in the best possible spirits 
jumped into a cab, and indulged in the following 
soliloquy: 

“Bravo! Monsieur le Marquis! You have helped 
me to make the first step; if Charles only succeeds 
on his side, the fascinating heiress, known as 
Clotilde Schunberg, shall be mine!” 


CHAPTER V. 


THE marquis’ secret. 

On arriving home, de Maurange, without taking 
the trouble to undress, threw himself on a lounge, 
and soon fell into a sound sleep. It was then five 
o’clock in the morning. Six hours afterward the 
door opened and Charles, George’s valet, entered 
the room. 

His master awoke. 

“What o’clock is it?” 

“Eleven o’clock, sir.” 

“Already !” said George stretching himself. “The 
devil! I was in the middle of a dream to make one 
wish to sleep on forever. Have you done what I 
told you ?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“And have you succeeded?” 

“Yes, sir, and beyond our hopes.” 

“Tell me all about it. 

“Yesterday evening, I saw Charlotte, Mademoi- 
selle Schunberg’s maid, and as skilfully as possible, 
got what information I could out oi her about the 
lOE 147 


148 THE marquis’ secret 

governess. Madame Firmin is fond of money.” 

‘^And is she devoted.?” 

“To whoever pays her well.” 

“What is her salary at Monsieur Schunberg’s.?” 

“Three thousand francs.” 

“That’s handsome. Well, and what else.?” 

“I saw the negro this morning and made him 
tipsy with some Old Normandy Brandy, the 
strength of which he never suspected, and he rel- 
ished it so much that he began to talk.” 

“Were you in livery.?” 

“Oh! no, sir. I bought a suit expressly at the 
Pont-Neuf, and the negro thought I was a veteri- 
nary surgeon.” 

The following fragment of conversation, which 
had taken place in a back room of a wine mer- 
chant’s in the neighborhood of the d’Aviella resi- 
dence between the negro Manoel, who, as well as 
Gomez, had followed Sanchez and his mother to 
France, and Charles, George’s valet, will explain 
the importance of this conversation, became con- 
fidential in consequence of numerous glasses that 
Manoel had accepted. 

“Tell me, do you know Monsieur le Marquis well .?” 

“Very well, indeed.” 

“Between ourselves, wh^t sort of man is he.? I:? 
he fond of cards ,?’^ 


THE marquis’ secret 


149 


^‘Does he drink?’’ 

“Never anything stronger than wine and water.” 

“Dissipated?” 

“I never knew him to have more than one mis- 
tress at a time.” 

“The devil! he is a regular phoenix, it apears to 
me! Have you never discovered him in a fault?” 

“Oh! yes.” 

“How was that?” 

“Ah! that is his secret.” 

“And yours, it seems. Keep it, I understand 
your prudence; but without knowing more about 
him, it is impossible to point out to you how to 
take advantage of him. You see, I am perfectly 
frank; I have confidence in you, and really, you 
do wrong to distrust me.” 

“I don’t distrust you. Monsieur Charles.” 

“Well, don t let us say any more about it. 
Your glass!” 

Manoel became taciturn, Charles turned the cork 
of the bottle round and round between his fingers, 
in an absent manner, but yet keeping a vigilant 
watch on his companion. 

“You are offended with me?” 3aid Mangel, aft^r 
a few moments silence, 


150 THE marquis’ secret 

^‘I? not the least in the world. I am only sorry 
for your own sake that you cannot tell me every- 
thing.” 

should like to, but there are some secrets too 
terrible to whisper even to your own shadow.” 

^‘Oh! you will speak,” thought Charles. Then 
aloud he added: ‘‘At Brazil, it is possible, but 
here, in Paris, an important secret ought to bring 
money to the man who possesses it. Without 
telling me everything, answer only a few questions: 

“Is the marquis hot tempered.^” 

“No.” 

“Jealous?” 

“Monsieur Charles!” 

“Vindictive?” 

“I will not tell anything. If the master found it 
out, he would kill me.” 

“Frightened, are you? You can no more kill a 
black here in Europe with impunity than you can 
a white.” 

“I cannot, I tell you!” 

“It is very serious then?” 

“Yes.” 

“Jealous and vindictive !” repeated Charles. Then 
guided by some secret impulse, “he has killed 
some one?” he hazarded in a low tone. 


THE marquis’ secret 


1.5 I. 

*fHold your tongue!’’ gasped Manoel in terror. 

‘‘I have guessed the truth then?” 

^‘No.” 

“Your terror would lead me to suppose the con- 
trary.” 

“You will not repeat it, at least,” said the black 
with a supplicating look. 

“You need not be afraid; empty your glass. 
There now, you feel better, don’t you? — Was it a 
man ?” 

“You will be my ruin, Monsieur Charles!” 

“Come along, it was a man, then?” 

“No.” 

“At Brazil, a mistress?” 

“A — slave — ” 

“Her name?” 

“Her name! Ah! her name! I — I don’t know 
anything more,” said Manoel, whom the last liba- 
tion had totally overcome. 

“Try to remember.” 

“My memory. I am forty years old.” 

“Don’t be so restless. Oh! the wretch, he is 
dead drunk.” 

“Dead, did you say. She is quite dead.” 

“Who.?” 

“It happened six years ago, at Pernambouc — I 
am thirsty.” 


152 THE marquis' secret 

“You will have something to drink presently. 

Her name.^” 

“I must drink.” 

“Tell me her name, and I will get you a drink.” 

“Quite sure?” 

“Yes. Her name?” 

“Lakhmi!” 

“Lakhmi,” repeated Charles as if to impress the 
name on his memory. 

Then, while the black, completely intoxicated 
suddenly fell into a deep sleep on the table, he 
hastened to return to his master, saying to himself: 

“After what I have discovered, if monsieur does 
not show generosity as well as satisfaction, I will 
have no luck.” 


CHAPTER VL 


A SINGULAR BARGAIN. 

De Maurange listened to Charles with great at- 
tention, gave him fifty louis, much to the delight 
of the valet, and having sent him away, lighted a 
cigarette, threw himself again on the lounge and 
began to think deeply. 

The discovery he had just made surpassed all 
that his strong antipathy to Sanchez could ever 
have led him to hope. 

“Come,” said he, “my prospects are brightening 
and I will lay odds on the success of my excellent 
friend George de Maurange. This Brazilian mdr- 
quis is not only a wolf, as I suspected, he is a tiger! 
And I am to allow this adorably fair enchantress, 
this fascinating Clotilde, so beautiful and wealthy, 
to unite her existence with this ferocious Brazilian ! 
No, most distinctly, no! But first, let me be pre- 
pared for all emergencies.” 

He got up, took down a buttoned foil, and prac- 
ticed against the wall for several minutes. 

153 


154 


A SINGULAR BARGAIN 


“The legs are good, the arm supple! Let me 
see if the eye and hand are equally reliable.’^ 

He threw his foil down, opened a case of pistols, 
and took out one of the weapons. Then, walking 
back to the couch, he removed a small plaque at- 
tached to the wall, and fastened a small card to it. 
Then placing himself at the furthest end of the 
room he fired, and four times successively removed 
a coiner of the card. At the last shot, a voice 
called out: 

“Bravo! my dear fellow, that is excellent!” 

It was de Chambly who had just entered. 

“I got up expressly on your account,” added the 
old beau. 

“A thousand thanks. You know that the mar- 
quis expects you at two o’clock 

“Perfectly, we will be punctual, for here is our 
other second.” 

One of the club members who had taken part in 
the game of baccarat on the preceding night, now 
entered the room. 

“Thanks for being so exact, gentlemen,” said 
George. “You were both witnesses of Monsieur 
d’Aviella’s insult, and can easily understand that 
no apology can be accepted. There must be no 
yielding on this point, if you please. That being 


A singIjlar bargain 


155 

decided, these are my wishes. Having been the 
person to receive the insult, the choice of weapons 
lies with me, and I choose pistols; as to any other 
conditions, I place myself entirely in your hands.” 

De Chambly attempted to propose some concili- 
atory arrangement. 

“I intend to fight,” said de Maurange; “my honor 
demands it and I shall be satisfied with nothing 
less.” 

“With the pistol.?” 

“Have I not the right to choose.?” 

“Yes, but look here,” showing the other second 
the card which had just served as a target for 
George, “just look what a crack shot the fellow is.? 
The marquis is a dead man.” 

“My dear de Chambly, I am not so invincible as 
you seem to imagine, and besides, skill in the use 
of the pistol may serve equally well to spare an 
adversary as to wound him mortally.” 

“I hope it may be so; and all for a wretched 
game of baccarat, where I lost six thousand francs.” 

“There is no reason why any one should be killed, 
is there .?” 

“Not any.” 

“The marquis is waiting for you. Please go to 
him, gentlemen,” said de Maurange. “I will await 


156 A Singular b*argain 

you here. Arrange so that the affair takes place 
to-day, if you please.” 

“You can depend on us.” 

With this promise, the two seconds drove off to 
the rue I’Universit^.” 

Sanchez was waiting for them in his smoking 
room. 

Unlike de Maurange, he had not slept all night; 
and less calm than he, had given way to the 
natural irascibility of his violent temper. 

At eleven o’clock he had sent Gomez to beg 
Durouget and d’Artheville to come to him at two 
o’clock precisely, so that the duel might take place 
as soon as possible. His feverish impatience be- 
trayed itself in the most trifling details. He had 
told Gomez everything, and these were the words 
with which he had welcomed the old hunter when 
the latter came to his bidding. 

“I am going to fight a duel to-day, with a man 
whom I must kill, Gomez.” 

“You have been insulted. Monsieur le Marquis! 
who has dared to do so.?” 

“A fool of whom I shall soon make a corpse.” 

“What weapons are you going to use.?” 

“I don’t know yet; but let me have him at the 
end of my sword or pistol, and I promise you, I 
shall have his life.” 


A SINGULAR BARGAIN 


157 


“I am quite aware of Monsieur le Marquis’ skill, 
but may I be permitted to make an observation ?” 

“Speak.” 

“You look very much irritated, and anger, by 
hurrying your thrusts, may render them less sure, 
and by agitating your arm, make your aim un- 
certain.” 

“Have you then forgotten how I lodged a ball in 
a jaguar’s eye, as he bounded in the moonlight at 
fifty steps distance.?” 

“Yes, but you were calm then.” 

“Not always,” murmured Sanchez replying to a 
secret thought, a sinister gleam of the past, which 
shot across his mind like a sombre flame, and 
raising his head as if to shake off this fatal memory, 
he took Gomez’s hand, as he added: “I will be 
calm, I promise you.” 

At that moment Durouget and "d’Artheville 
arrived. 

Exactly as George had done, the marquis gave 
free permission to his seconds, only declaring that 
he would offer no apology, so that the duel was 
inevitable. 

D’Artheville and Durouget withdrew to a small 
salon adjoining the smoking, room, when they 
heard George’s seconds announced. 


158 


A SINGULAR BARGAIN 


The latter entered. 

In few words they made the marquis acquainted 
with de Maurange’s intentions. 

‘‘I am obliged to you, gentlemen, for not trying 
to prevent this duel. My seconds are there. Be 
kind enough to join them, so that you may be able 
to conclude all necessary arrangements.” 

The two men bowed and withdrew into the ad- 
joining salon. 

While this was taking place at the hotel 
d’Aviella, de Maurange was taking a very cool, 
clear sighted view of his present position. 

“If I kill this devil of a marquis,” he soliloquized, 
“my hopes of a marriage with Clotilde will be 
endangered, that is certain. In spite of the ap- 
parent pretext for this encounter, she is too clever 
not to guess the true motive. I have studied her 
character. Under a somewhat frivolous manner, 
she is very tender hearted, and would have consid- 
erable difficulty in pardoning my victory. Besides, 
without being positively loved by her, this Sanchez 
— why did he not stay at Brazil and kill Lakhmis 
at his ease — occupies already too great a portion of 
her thoughts for the lovely Clotilde not to conceive 
an everlasting enmity against me if I avenge the 
murdered slave. On the other hand, if I only 


A SINGULAR BARGAIN 


1S9 


wound him, our duel will not make much talk; 
Mademoiselle Schunberg may even remain in 
ignorance of it, interpreting the momentary 
absence of my rival from attendance on her as a 
definitive retreat. During this time, I will have 
the field free, and can hasten events in such a way 
that I shall have nothing more to dread from 
d’Aviella when he does appear. What is of the first 
importance is to continue to play a becoming role. 
One never knows what may happen, and women 
are never completely insensible to anything that 
savors of chivalry. There are two possibilities 
to foresee; whether he kills or wounds me. In 
the first case, the future matters very little; in 
the second, it is as brilliant for me as if I came 
out victorious from this encounter, thanks to the 
secret I discovered this morning; for its revelation 
will certainly compel Clotilde to await my recovery, 
whatever may happen. I have nothing to dread 
then but death, and really, I do not dread that.” 

He had gone thus far in his reflections, when 
the door opened, and to his great astonishment a 
veiled woman entered. He mechanically rose to 
his feet, and in a second became convinced that 
this woman was entirely unknown to him. 

“I have the pleasure of speaking to Monsieur 


A SINGULAR BARGAIN 


i6o 

George de Maurange?” she said in a slightly foreign 
accent, without appearing to notice the profound 
astonishment depicted on the young man’s counte- 
nance. 

“Yes, madame; but how does it happen — ” 

“That I intrude on you without being announced ? 
You will soon know, monsieur.” 

And without waiting for George to offer her a 
chair, she seated herself and raised her veil. 

De Maurange had an opportunity of examining 
her at his leisure for a short moment. The stranger, 
who seemed about twenty-five or twenty-six years 
of age, was very beautiful. Her dress, although 
altogether devoid of show, bore every evidence of 
wealth. 

George’s surprise was beyond bounds. 

“You are going to fight a duel with the Marquis 
d’Aviella.?” she continued. 

De Maurange made a movement as if to protest. 

“Oh! do not deny it, monsieur, and do not ask 
me how I happened to arrive at this knowledge. 
Money will make the dead speak, and I am rich 
enough to buy any secrets I have use for.” 

This unceremonious introduction, offered with a 
calm assurance which admitted of no doubt, re- 
doubled the astonishment of the listener, Whg 


A SINGULAR BARGAIN l6l 

could have revealed even for gold, the fact of his 
duel to this young woman? 

George could not suspect his seconds, and 
Charles knew nothing. 

“My reason for coming to your rooms, is that I 
wished to see you before this duel. I bribed your 
people to let me come in without being announced, 
for fear, at such a time, that you would not con- 
sent to receive me, not having the honor of being 
acquainted with me.^’ 

This lofty tone was displeasing to George. 
“Pardon me, madame,” said he, interrupting his 
unknown visitor, “but allow me to observe that 
before having this honor, I will not consent to 
listen to you any longer.’^ 

“Of what importance can my na.ne be to you? 
You have never heard it pronounced. Besides, to 
be frank, I shall not give it to you to-day, and I 
will convince you that to exact such a thing would 
be puerile, when I could easily gratify your curi- 
osity by inventing any name on the spot.’^ 

“You are right,” acknowledged the young man. 
“Then do not let us waste time in mere words, 
monsieur, and please give me your undivided 
attention.” 

“I promise to do so,’^ 


A SINGULAR BARGAIN 


162 

“Thanks. You are supposed to be wealthy, yet 
you are a poor man.” 

“Madame! — ” 

“You promised to listen, monsieur; for the 
future, do not deny anything, it would be useless 
trouble. I know all about your life for the past 
ten years, as well as if I had never left you during 
that time for one minute.” 

“And what end could you have possibly had in 
view when you permitted yourself to pry into my 
past history?” said George haughtily. 

“You will know very soon, allow me to continue.” 

“Very well then,” said de Maurange, impressed 
in spite of himself by his mysterious guest. 

“You like money, and your duel is more a ques- 
tion of money than anything else.” 

“Pardon me, madame, but — ” 

“Pardon me, monsieur, in my turn; only permit 
me to remind you that if you do not allow me to 
continue, we shall never come to any understand- 
ing.” 

“Please go on, madame.” 

“The marquis is your rival, and the banker Isaac 
Schunberg’s fortune adds tenfold, in your eyes, to 
his daughter Clotilde’s beauty, whom you imagine 
yourself to be in love with.” 


A SINGULAR BARGAIN 


163 


“What demon can have read my inmost thoughts 
and revealed them so clearly to you?” cried de 
Maurange. 

“Not any, reassure yourself. There are more 
suppositions than actual facts in what I have said. 
I pay well and I am served well. I judge you 
according to your actions, that is all.” 

George felt helpless before a will stronger than 
his own. He was silent and listened. 

“I should like, though, to enlighten you a little,” 
pursued the young woman. “If I did take the 
trouble to occupy myself with your every action, 
and your most careless speeches, I ought to con- 
fess to you that I did so because chance has brought 
you and the Marquis d’Aviella together.” 

“Ah! you love the marquis?” 

“No, oh no! I swear it!” 

And the denial was accompanied by a look so 
full of hate, that George was startled. 

“I do not like the marquis,” pursued the stranger, 
“and yet presuming that your most ardent desire is 
to kill him, I have come here for the express pur- 
pose of buying his life.” 

“From me?” cried de Maurange stupefied before 
this living enigma that was speaking to him. 

“Yes, I know you to be an unerring marksman, 


164 


A SINGULAR BARGAIN 


as well as a first class swordsman. The marquis’ 
life is in your hands, and I wish him to live.’’ 

“You see, madame, my suspicions were correct. 
You love the marquis.” 

“Monsieur de Maurange, I never tell falsehoods.” 

“If it is not love, it cannot be hate which guides 
your conduct.” 

“Perhaps — Look; here are a hundred thousand 
francs, swear to me that you will not kill the mar- 
quis, and it belongs to you,” said the stranger, 
holding out to George a well filled packet. 

“A hundred thousand francs!” 

“Count them.” 

“Such a bargain.” 

“Is very reasonable. Should the marquis live, 
your chances of becoming Monsieur Schunberg’s 
son-in-law are remote; it is then only just that I 
should offer you some slight equivalent. Promise 
me, your word will be sufficient.” 

“Pardon me. By asking me to spare the life of 
the marquis, you include the sacrifice of my own, 
you see, I must allow myself to be defeated.” 

“I only ask for the life of the marquis, and noth- 
ing more. You may wound him, seriously even, 
without breaking our agreement, and the more 
painful his wound is, the better will I be satisfied; 


A SINGULAR BARGAIN 


i6s 

but I repeat again, what I do wish, is that he 
should not be killed. Let him suffer, that is 
exactly what I desire; suffer as much as possible; 
do you accept?*’ 

“Yes^” said de Maurange after an instant’s re- 
flection. 

“Here is the money. Swear to me, you will not 
kill the marquis.” 

“I promise you, on my word of honor, that I will 
not,” said George in a firm voice. “But who then, 
are you ?” 

“A woman who lives but for one end, that is all 
I can tell you now. Until we meet again, adieu. 
Monsieur de Maurange, and thank you. We were 
made to understand each other and you will marry 
Mademoiselle Schunberg, that much I can tell you. 
Henceforth, you have an ally, and this little hand 
holds your future between the five fingers.” 

These last words were pronounced in a more 
friendly tone, in which also could be discerned 
complete satisfaction. George took the hand held 
out to him and kissed iti It was the left hand. 
He did not pay particular attention to this at the 
time, but re-conducted his singular visitor to the 
door of his room. De Chambly and the other 
second met her as they were coming in. They 


1 66 A SINGULAR BARGAIN 

could not see her features under the veil in the 
rather dark hall, but the elegance of her general 
appearance struck them. George asked them in 
the salon. 

said the old beau, “here is Venus come 
to encourage Mars. If I had such a mistress I 
would fight like a lion.’^ 

“Well, gentlemen, what have you to tell me?’* 
demanded de Maurange. 

“In an hour, at the barriere de T^^toile. We 
decided on pistols, at twenty-five paces; you are 
to fire together at a given signal.” 

“Very good,” assented George. 

Then he rang. 

“A carriage,” he ordered. 

The valet went out to execute the order. 

“We are to get pistols at Lepage’s, the marquis’ 
seconds will do the same, and when we arrive on 
the ground, the weapons will be awarded by draw- 
ing lots. These are the arrangements we have 
come to,” explained de Chambly. 

“They could not be better; I will be with you in 
a moment.” 

Leaving his two friends, de Maurange re-entered 
the room where he had received his strange visitor; 
he locked up the hundred thousand francs in his 


A SINGULAR BARGAIN 1 67 

secretaire and placing himself at his writing table, 
began to write. 

“The marquis d'Aviella murdered one of his 
slaves named Lakhmi. The friend who tells you 
this secret will soon furnish the proofs.” 

This short anonymous note finished, George en- 
closed it in an envelope which he carefully sealed 
and on which he wrote the following superscription: 

“For Mademoiselle Clotilde.” 

Then he took a fresh sheet of paper and wrote: 

“Madame, render an important service to a friend 
of Mademoiselle Schunberg’s, and let her have the 
enclosed note before evening. I will soon disclose 
who I am.” 

Taking a note for 500 francs he enclosed it with 
both letters in a second envelope, and addressed 
it to: 

“Madame Firmin, hotel Schunberg, Chaussee 
d’Antim.” 

And then, having slipped this letter in a third 
envelope which he sealed like the others, but 
which he left unaddressed, he rejoined his friends. 

“Here, de Chambly,” said he, “take this letter. 
If I am so seriously wounded as to be unconscious, 
break the seal and forward the one it encloses. 
Will you do this.'^” 


i68 


A SINGULAR BARGAIN 


“On my honor.” 

“If I am killed, you will burn it without opening 
it.” 

“Yes, I understand.” 

“My best thanks.” 

Charles entered. 

“The carriage is waiting, sir.” 

“That is right. I am going out for a few hours, 
shut up everything here during my absence,” said 
de Maurange. Then addressing his seconds: 
“Come, let us be off, gentlemen! We must not 
keep Monsieur le Marquis d’Aviella waiting.” 


CHAPTER VIL 

THE SPY. 

Let US, for a moment, leave the belligerents on 
their way to the Arcade Triomph de I’Etoile, and 
look backwards at what had taken place at the 
Schunberg hotel a few hours before. 

The banker’s punctuality was proverbial. The 
least important acts of his life were as regularly 
marked out as the march of the globe. Every 
morning at eleven o’clock precisely, never sooner, 
never later, he entered the dining room where 
Clotilde waited breakfast for him. She knew 
this gave her father great pleasure, and the affec- 
tionate girl adored him. That morning, the smile 
which the old man daily wore on presenting himself 
to Clotilde, vanished from his lips as he entered 
the room where we first introduced him to the 
reader. Clotilde was absent. 

“How very extraordinary!” Then after waiting 
for a few minutes: “Can she be ill.^” 

He was on the point of going to his daughter’s 
169 


170 


THE SPY 


room, when Madame Firmin, Mademoiselle Schun- 
berg's companion, entered the room. She was a 
woman of middle size, with a flat figure, and a 
honied smile. Her face was angular, her nose 
formidable in its proportions, and her eyelids 
prominent in shape like the shell of a chestnut. 
Her voice even, in spite of its natural sweetness, 
had a certain nasal accent, almost imperceptible, 
but which showed that Madame Firmin was born 
to be a professional beggar. Disinherited, in the 
first place, by nature, a veritable stepmother to 
her, Madame Firmin had also met illtreatment at 
the hands of fate. 

At eighteen years of age, the age when all 
women, even the least endowed, believe and hope, 
she had encountered a good looking unprincipled 
adventurer, who married her, he said for love, but 
in reality to gain possession of the 50,000 francs 
which constituted all the wealth of the unattract- 
ive young girl. A month later, he ran away with 
a good looking milliner, leaving only to his angular 
better half, the consolation of weeping over her 
los,s. Since then, Madame Firmin had never heard 
either of her runaway or her money. 

Having received a brilliant education and pos- 
sessing some talents, she gave lessons on the piano, 


THE SPY 


I7I 


posed as a woman of incorruptible virtue, in the 
hope, perhaps, of entrapping some Englishman or 
American who could appreciate a misunderstood 
and persecuted woman. But the dreamed-of con- 
soler never came. It is true, that like the scare- 
crows which country people make use of to frighten 
away sparrows, the unprepossessing appearance of 
the deserted wife kept at a respectful distance the 
most intrepid. 

One morning the clock of time rang out her for- 
tieth winter. She then extinguished her lantern, 
became still more reserved and gave all hope of 
turning into honey the bitterness of her blighted 
hopes. 

Pariah from love and maternity, her withered 
heart became credulous and soft without hatred, 
but also without devotion. The ashes under which 
it lay hidden ended by extinguishing the flame of 
its latent passion, except the love of gold. In 
certain crises, Madame Firmin saw yellow, as 
certain assassins see red, under the sway of their 
passions. 

For six years she had lived with the Schunbergs 
whose entire confidence she had gained. As for 
Clotilde, her kind heart had induced her to love 
her governess from the first day, and adroitly led 


172 


THE SPY 


by Madame Firmin, she had ended by not having 
any secrets from her. 

“Is my daughter not well?” the banker asked her 
eagerly. 

“She is quite well, monsieur, reassure yourself. 
Mademoiselle begged me to ask you to excuse her 
for not being quite ready yet, and to tell you that 
she would be down presently.” 

“I will give her a quarter of an hour. Go, 
madame, and scold her, so that the dear child may 
make haste.” 

The cause of Clotilde’s nonappearance was as 
follows: 

She respected her father’s habits of punctuality, 
so that, however advanced the hour might be at 
which she retired for the night, Madame Firmin, 
on entering her room in the morning always found 
her young mistress awake; but on the day of 
which we speak, it was different. 

Returning very late from the Baroness de Lun^- 
ville’s ball, and much agitated at the marquis’ 
avowal, Clotilde had vainly courted sleep. The 
day broke and she was still awake. George’s 
adieu also kept sounding in her ears, and had a 
good deal to do with her slightly feverish sleep- 
lessness. Her loyal disposition shrank from any- 


THE SPY 173 

thing that sounded like calumny, but what could 
these warning words of de Maurange signify? 

“I shall let you know what sort of man Sanchez 
really is!” 

Did she not know already ? 

To her great surprise, Madame Firmin, on en- 
tering Clotilde’s room, had found her asleep. 
She approached the bed, believing that the young 
girl was only dozing; but her deep, regular breath- 
ing showed that she was in a sound sleep. The 
governess contented herself with pointing this fact 
out to Charlotte, the maid, and both retired with- 
out awakening the young girl. The breakfast hour 
approached; this continued sleep made Madame 
Firmin anxious, and she resolved to awake her. 

“Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle!” she called, 
bending over the bedside of the pretty creature, 
“it is nearly eleven o’clock!” 

“So late! Quick, make haste then, Charlotte. 
Ah ! why did you let me sleep ? Do not lose a 
minute,” said Mademoiselle Schunberg as she 
awoke. 

The eagerness of the two women, answered to 
the young girl’s wishes, but in spite of all the 
haste they could make the timepiece struck eleven 
before she was dressed. 


174 


THE SPY 


“Too late!” sighed Clotilde. “Oblige me, dear 
Madame Firmin,by going down and telling my 
father to grant me a few minutes longer.” 

The governess was not long in bringing back 
Schunberg’s answer to Clotilde. 

“How good he is!” she cried, “he tells you to 
scold me because he knows it is an impossible thing 
for you to do. Never mind, you ought to have 
awakened me.” 

“You ought to have remained in bed and allowed 
your father to breakfast alone; you still look tired.” 

“How can you think of such a thing No, no, 
he would have been too anxious. Then I have to 
speak to him about a matter of importance; for 
the principal reason of my not sleeping was be- 
cause I was thinking the best part of the night.” 

“Seriously.!^” asked the governess with a smile. 

“More so than you think. Madame Firmin, do 
you like to travel .J*” 

“I do not dislike it” 

“Then make haste, and pack up your trunks.” 

“We are going awayi^” 

“Yes, of course.” 

“And where .J*” 

“You are asking too much; I do not know myself. 
At last, I am ready. I will be back presently.” 


THE SPY 


175 


Isaac welcomed his daughter with his usual affec- 
tion. . 

“At last, lazy one!’^ said he as she entered. “One 
second more and I would have begun without you. 
Come and kiss me, as a punishment for making 
your father wait.’^ 

“And you, kiss me again to prove that you for- 
give me.’^ 

“There now, dear child, let us sit down.^’ 

He rang and breakfast was served. 

When the servants withdrew, as they had orders 
to do when coffee was served: 

“You are very silent to-day, Clotilde.^” said the 
old man. “Oh! don’t defend yourself; I know 
you well enough to divine that your unusual silence 
only arose from an intense desire to speak a great 
deal, which the presence of the servants alone pre- 
vented. We are alone now, and I am ready to 
listen.” 

Clotilde still hesitated. 

“Well, what is it.?” said Isaac encouragingly. 

“I have a big 'yes’ to drag from you, father.” 

“To drag from me.? Then there must be good 
reasons for me to say 'no. ’ ” 

“There are, but I know one more powerful than 
them all put together, which ought to make the 
balance weigh in favor of “yes.” 


176 


THE SPY 


“And what may this convincing reason be?’’ 

“About five months ago, you granted me a whole 
year in which to make my choice of a husband. 
Well, father, I have a son in-law to propose to 
you.” 

“Ah!” said the banker smiling. “And who is the 
happy mortal?” 

“The Marquis d’Aviella, who told me last night 
he loved me.” 

“I thought as much. And are you going to be 
a marchioness soon?” 

“I am not quite sure yet. I have still some time 
left, father.” 

“How! time!” said Schunberg disappointed. 

“Certainly, seven months, at least.” 

“I do not understand. Why speak of the mar- 
quis, in this case.” 

“Because my marriage with him depends some- 
what on you, and a great deal on Monsieur 
d’Aviella. I will explain. I have a very friendly 
feeling towards the marquis, even a deeper feeling 
perhaps; but while doing justice to his many 
admirable qualities which I know you appreciate 
equally with me, I cannot overcome an unconquer- 
able feeling of indecision. I am certain he believes 
himself sincere, and my hesitation does not arise 


THE SPY 


177 


from that. But, I should like to put him to a 
proof, which, while enabling me to read my own 
heart clearly, will enable me to value at its true 
worth the real value of the sentiments with which 
I have inspired him. I have been thinking over 
this all night and have discovered a means of solv- 
ing this double problem.” 

“And the means 

“Depends on you.” 

“What are you coming to.?” 

“To beg you to take a little journey with me.” 

“And when, my capricious beauty.?” 

“Immediately.” 

“What! leave Paris in the middle of winter.? 
And under what snow do you intend to bury your- 
self.?” 

“We will fly from it, on the contrary; we shall 
go to Italy; say you will, won’t you.?” 

“Certainly not.” 

“What! you refuse me, father.?” 

“My dear Clotilde, in spite of the sincere pleasure 
I take in gratifying your slightest wish, my business 
obliges me to remain in Paris for the moment.” 

“Oh! I will give you three, or four days. 

“Indeed! As much as that?” said Isaac in a 
mocking tone. “I repeat it, your fine project can- 


178 


THE SPY 


not be realized; so think of something better.” 

“Oh! you actually refuse me! this is the first 
time! that is not kind.” 

“But for what purpose do you propose taking 
this journey.?” 

“I have told you. With the intention of inter- 
rogating my own heart and at the same time to put 
Sanchez, the marquis, I mean,” she corrected her- 
self, blushing deeply, “to some proof. Now, this 
is my plan. You must not tell any one where we 
are going, neither will I; our friends will not know 
we have left, until we are already at some distance. 
Madame Firmin and Andr^, your valet, will alone 
accompany us. In this way. Monsieur d’Aviella 
will not be able to join us. We shall remain 
away three months. If, after this delay, I like 
him as well as I do now, if absence does not make me 
forget him, and he still occupies the same place in 
my heart, I will marry him; if he, on his side, has 
not forgotten me, and can forgive me for the trial 
I have put him to, and — ” 

“But if he really loves you, your departure will 
drive him to despair. It is a cruel experiment, and 
may be the means of killing his love,” interrupted 
the banker. 

“If he loves me truly, he will suffer, I know; but 


THE SPY 


179 


do you not think that my lifelong affection does 
not merit three months of a little suspense? Be- 
sides, this departure is necessary. Monsieur 
d’Aviella made me commit myself last night, and 
I mean to punish him for it.** 

^‘Explain yourself.** 

“I was surprised and rather agitated when he 
made his confession, although I half expected it; 
and I foolishly promised to give him a decided 
answer at the Minister’s ball. On reflection, I do 
not wish to form a definite engagement so quickly. 
The only way to escape is not to go to this ball. 
I beg you then, father, not to refuse me; this ball 
takes place in five days, and I want to leave Paris 
before it comes off.** 

“You are only a spoiled child, Clotilde.** 

“Very possibly; but be an indulgent father, as 
you always have been. I am inclined to be super- 
stitious, you know, and I attach a great importance 
to this trip, for I believe it will have a great influ- 
ence on my future.** 

“Very well then, have your own way! We shall 
go.** 

“But when?** 

“In three days. Durouget can act in my place.** 

Clotilde, enchanted, loaded the old man with 

m 


i8o 


THE SPY 


caresses. It was sufficient recompense for Isaac 
for the great sacrifice he had made. 

Madame Firmin was soon acquainted with the 
fact that the journey her young mistress had spoken 
of was definitely arranged; only, when she asked 
with pardonable curiosity where they were going 
to, Clotilde replied: “That is a secret,” and 
Madame Firmin did not dare to push her questions 
further. 

A slight feeling of remorse mingled with this ex- 
treme reserve. 

We shall soon understand why. 

Three hours later, that is to say, when she was 
free, Madame Firmin left the hotel and getting 
into a cab, ordered the coachman to drive to Neuilly. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


THE DUEL. 

The Bois de Boulogne, at the time we speak of, 
was very different from the fashionable promenade 
it is now. The lakes did not exist. 

There was no entrance by the avenue de ITmper- 
atrice, that spacious road where pedestrians, riders, 
and carriages, have each their own place, and only, 
a few of the alleys were frequented. The others, 
deserted and solitary during winter, were propitious 
to duels, for the combatants were pretty certain 
not to encounter any inquisitive loiterers, nor un- 
desirable peacemakers. They fought, hanged 
themselves, shot their brains out, at their ease, 
without witnesses, under a leafy canopy peopled 
by thousands of singing birds during the fine 
season, and during the winter, with nothing to in- 
terrupt their view of the horizon, but the skeleton 
branches of the trees. 

At times, these solitudes were invaded by the 
appearance of a carriage, wending its way slowly 

181 


i 82 


THE DUEL 


along the alley known as TAmour a Cythere. On 
Sundays, and then only during the fine season, 
Parisians hungering for the fresh country air, and 
who had not then the numerous resources offered 
to them by the suburban railroads, indulged them- 
selves in a holiday, picknicked on the grass, and 
took their rest on the seventh day, devoutly con- 
secrated to the dolce far niente. 

By choosing the Arc de Triomphe de I’Etoile as 
a place of rendezvous, and consequently the Bois 
de Boulogne as the place of encounter, the marquis 
and George’s friends acted like men of experience. 
It was the middle of winter; there was a hard frost, 
and however short a distance they might penetrate 
into the unfrequented neighborhood, they were 
sure to find themselves alone. Choosing weapons 
at Lapage’s had taken more time than de Chambly 
had calculated on. 

When George’s carriage arrived at the top of the 
Champs Elysees, the marquis’ carriage had already 
passed the Arc de Triomphe de I’Etoile. Three 
o’clock had already struck. 

“We are late,” said George. 

De Chambly looked at his watch. 

“Only five minutes,” he said. 

“That is too much, a great deal too much for a 
duel.” 


TttE DUEL 


183 


“For a serious duel, I grant you, yes.” 

“Do you consider this one a mere farce then, de 
Chambly?” 

“God forbid, my dear fellow; but I confess that 
I consider the cause of the quarrel takes away from 
its importance. To fight for a game of baccarat!” 

“The game of baccarat was not the true motive 
of this duel, you know that as well as I do; it was 
the insult which terminated it. That is what makes 
it, whatever you may say to the contrary, a 
serious duel.” 

“I regret extremely not having taken some meas- 
ures to prevent it; for if it ends fatally for you, my 
dear fellow, I shall never be able to console my- 
self during the rest of my life.” 

“Thank you, de Chambly, for your promise of 
regrets; but in these sort of affairs, it seems to me, 
seconds ought to adopt the role of diplomatists, as 
in conflicts between nations. When war was in- 
evitable, no Tallyrand, as far as I know, would 
waste regret on the death of the vanquished. Do 
the same. Besides,” added George with a smile, 
“do I look like a dying man.^^” 

“No, indeed.” 

“Then imitate me; trust to my lucky star. 
Right is on my side; that is two thirds of the 
victory. Give me a cigar.” 


184 


THE DUEL 


‘‘I admire your coolness!” 

“Is it not in season? — Brrr! — One would have 
to be formed of lava to resist this Siberian temper- 
ature. Ah! you were wrong to choose pistols; 
fencing would have warmed us up.” 

“It is not only that, but, under this gray sky, in 
the midst of these leafless trees, your figures will 
be as clearly defined as targets!” 

“All the better, we shall be able to aim more 
correctly.” 

“Do you wish then to kill the marquis?” 

“Do you take me for a cannibal? I hope on the 
contrary, thanks to my skill, to wound him only 
slightly.” 

“That's right ! You are a brave man, and a 
gentleman, de Maurange.” 

“He deserves your praise,” said the other second, 
who until then had been a silent listener. 

“I shall try to be worth of your good opinion, 
gentlemen.” • 

Silence followed this conversation. 

By this time, they had almost overtaken the 
marquis’ carriage, which now, without waiting for 
them any longer, proceeded on its way to Neuilly. 

“Monsieur de Aviella leads the way,” said George. 
Then he lay back in the carriage, muffling himself 


THE DUEL 


185 


up closely in the furlined pelisse he had thrown on 
before starting. With a cigar between his lips, 
absently watching his adversary's carriage, he for- 
got de Chambly and his companion, and was soon 
buried in deep thought. 

Who could this woman be who did not wish the 
marquis to be killed.? and yet so ardently desired 
that he might be wounded.? What peculiar feeling 
could instigate her to act thus.? To what class of 
society did she belong.? Her air of undoubted dis- 
tinction was not that of a woman of fashion, and 
yet she issued her orders like one accustomed to 
be obeyed. Could there be another secret in the 
life of this cursed Sanchez than the one revealed by 
that repulsive black.? “I am altogether at a loss 
what to think,” he reflected. “Nevertheless, my 
future depends on her. Of that I am certain. I 
feel it. This woman is beautiful, almost as beau- 
tiful as Glotilde. To judge from our bargain, she 
must possess an immense fortune. Then what 
looks, what a voice, so gentle and imperious at the 
same time! She is a veritable serpent for fasci- 
nation and charm; I am impatient to see her again. 

Am I in love with her already.? It seems to me 
I am in rather an inflamable mood. No. The 
romance latent in every intelligent man’s nature 


THE DUEL 


186 

is affecting me, that is all. Will I love her one 
day? Not more than I do now. How oddly we 
are constituted ! Since this marquis, whom Heaven 
confound, has come between Clotilde and rpe, I am 
really in love with her. Obstacles have more to 
do with making a man fall in love than the most 
powerful of philters. Oh ! that Sanchez, I do be- 
lieve I hate him! He may be thankful to Heaven 
for the intervention of this unknown beauty, who 
made me promise not to kill him. Besides she has 
acted for the best! D’Aviella’s death would have 
been the surest means of ensuring my failure in the 
journey I was about to undertake to the Pactolus.”( 

It can be gathered from this monologue that 
George was perfectly calm. De Chambly inter- 
rupted his reverie. 

“The marquis’ carriage has stopped,” he said. 

“Let us stop also, then.” 

The marquis, Durouget and d’Arth^ville de- 
scended at this moment from their carriage. A 
fourth person followed them. This was Gomez, 
who, as he had promised, would not desert his 
master. On leaving the hotel he had said to 
d’Aveilla. 

“Let me accompany you, Monsieur le Marquis? 

“It is useless, Gomez.” 


THE DUEL 


187 


“Let me beg as a great favor.” 

“This is an old retainer of our family, gentle- 
men,” Sanchez had explained. “Have I your per- 
mission to let him accompany us.” 

“Most certainly.” 

Gomez took the fourth place in the carriage. 

Sanchez and Durouget were seated together, and 
while d’Artheville, charmed with the martial air of 
the old Brazilian, entered into conversation with 
him, the marquis observed to Durouget: 

“I repeat once more my thanks to you for acting 
as my second in this affair. Monsieur Durouget; 
but I have still another favor to ask you.” 

“Name it, marquis.” 

“It is that you promise me to keep this duel a 
profound secret from everyone.” 

“I promise.” 

“Above all, from Monsieur Schunberg!” 

“From everyone, that is understood.” 

“Thank you. I particularly desire that the 
marchioness, my mother, may not know anything 
about it.” 

“You can rely on me to second your wishes.” 

Sanchez shook hands cordially with him. 

The horses they drove were excellent; so they 
arrived at the Arc de TEtoile a few minutes before 
the hour indicated. 


THE DUEL 


m 


“Is Monsieur de Maurange there?” demanded 
Sanchez. 

“Not yet,” replied d’Artheville, after having 
looked round carefully. 

“I do not see any one,” added Gomez. 

“Let us wait; they will not keep us waiting much 
longer.” 

With the exception of the few words exchanged 
between the steward and d’Arth^ville, and the 
short dialogue related above, not one word had 
been exchanged between the four occupants of the 
carriage. 

D’Arth^ville had forced himself to observe an 
unusually serious demeanor. Durouget tried to 
preserve a grave silence. Gomez was too anxious 
not to remain mute while Sanchez, a prey to jeal- 
ousy and hate, could only think of the approaching 
duel, and already killed George in his thoughts. 

“How late they are,” he remarked after a few 
minutes. 

“Keep calm. Monsieur le Marquis, keep calm, I 
beg of you.” 

“I will, Gomez.” 

“Ah! here they are,” cried d’Arth6ville who had 
just seen the advancing carriage. 

“Let us goon, then.” • 


THE DUEL 


189 

The horses advanced at a slower pace. 

When they reached the Porte Maillot, Durouget 
gave the order to stop. They descended; de 
Maurange and his seconds followed their example, 
and all entered one of the larger alleys of the Bois. 
At a short distance from the entrance a coupe was 
stationed. A young man, dressed in black and 
wearing a white cravat, descended from it. 

“Ah! there is the doctor,” said d^Arthevjlle 
holding out his hand to the new comer. 

“What, you thought — What was the use of 
troubling monsieur.” 

“A doctor, my dear marquis, is indispensable in 
such a case. Monsieur Sylvan,” added he intro- 
ducing the man of science to the Marquis d’ Aviella. 

The doctor and Sanchez bowed. 

“We will see about the concluding arrange- 
ments,” said d’Artheville. “Come, Durouget.” 

They turned back to meet de Chambly and 
George’s other second, who imitated their example 
and left the latter alone. 

The four seconds were now together. 

“Is Monsieur d’ Aviella still of the same mind.^^” 
demanded de Chambly. 

The same. And Monsieur de Maurange.?” 

“Also the same; there is nothing more to be 


190 


THE DUEL 


done now than choose an advantageous spot.” 

‘‘If you will follow me,” said Gaston, “I know 
where there is an open place which seems made 
expressly for affairs of this kind.” 

“All right; we will go and inform Monsieur 
de Maurange.” 

They again separated, but very little time passed 
before the seven men entered a narrow alley, 
d’ Arth^ville acting as guide. 

“This is the place,” said the latter, after a short 
walk. 

“Admirable! The place seems predestined.” 

The spot indicated, which answered admirably 
to the exigencies of the occasion, was a rather 
wide path from the borders of which the trees had 
been recently cut down; in this way, no mark 
could serve as a guide to the eye of either of the 
combatants. 

“Here are Monsieur d’Aviella’s weapons,” said 
Durouget, taking the box from Gomez; “we de- 
clare formally, both Monsieur d’Artheville and I, 
that the marquis saw them for the first time only 
an hour ago, and has never used them.” 

“Here are Monsieur de Maurange’s,” replied de 
Chambly, “monsieur and I make the same declara- 
tion concerning them.” 


THE DUEL 


I9I 

“Let us draw lots. Or better still, you toss a 
coin up!” 

“Here goes then! Cry.” 

“Heads!” 

“It is heads.” 

“Then we will use Monsieur de Maurange's 
weapons.” 

“Very well.” 

“Count the paces, de Chambly.” 

“Willingly. 

“We are going to load.” 

During this time, Gomez kept near his master. 

“Keep calm, keep cool,” he repeated. 

“You may depend upon me, I will!” 

“Is your hand steady.^^” 

“Feel.” 

“Yes, that is right, your pulse is quiet.” 

“Oh! I shall kill him, Gomez, I am sure of it.” 

Calmer than Sanchez, de Maurange absently 
switched a stunted arbutus tree with a little whip 
he held in his hand. 

“‘The more serious the wound is the better will 
I be satisfied,’ said the black haired enigma. Ah! 
well ! I will break one of his arms, as sure as I 
break this twig,” he concluded. 

“Are you ready?” de Chambly asked him. 


192 


THE DUEL 


“Perfectly,” replied George taking off his pelisse. 

Sanchez threw off his overcoat. Completely 
clothed in black, and buttoned up to the chin, 
without any apparent linen, not a line of white 
was to be distinguished in either of their costumes. 

When they arrived at the place marked out, de 
Chambly handed George his pistol. 

“Take care, it is loaded. You will both fire at 
the third call. D’Arth^ville will give the signal.” 

“I understand. Wait, de Chambly, one word. 
You remember my last instructions regarding that 
letter I gave you ? If I am seriously wounded — ” 

“ I will open it, and forward the enclosure to its 
address immediately.” 

“And if I am killed.^” 

“Burn it, without opening the letter.” 

“Exactly. Once more, thank you.” 

Sanchez was in his place. 

The seconds had withdrawn to one side. 

“Are you ready, gentlemen.?” demanded Gaston. 

“Yes,” said George in a sonorous voice. 

The marquis replied by an affirmative sign of 
the head. 

He held his weapon up and was already taking 
aim. 

“Fire! One — two — three — ,” said Gaston strik- 
ing his hands together. 


THE DUEL 


193 


One shot alone rang out on the still air. 

“Ah !’’ said de Maurange as he sank into the arms 
of his seconds who had rushed to his assistance on 
seeing him stagger. 

The marquis* ball had struck him full in the 
chest* 

“How did it happen he did not fire.^” exclaimed 
Gaston d’Artheville, drawing near, all his sympa- 
thy being with George. 

They picked up the pistol that had dropped from 
the hand of the wounded man. The trigger was 
down, but the barrel remained still loaded. The 
cap, badly placed by de Chambly’s frozen fingers, 
had dropped off during the short conversation he 
had held with George. 

“What did I tell you.^” said the marquis with a 
pale smile to Gomez. 

The doctor, bending over the wounded man, ex- 
amined him attentively. 

“Well, doctor.?’’ demanded Durouget. 

“It is serious, but we can save him.” 

Gaston rushed up to Sanchez. 

“Reassure yourself, my dear marquis. Monsieur 
de Maurange’s wound is not perhaps, mortal.” 

An almost imperceptible frown welcomed this 
announcement, but making a supreme effort to 


194 


THE DUEL 


control himself, Sanchez replied courteously: 

“Please tell, Monsieur de Maurange, I beg of you, 
that I offer him my apologies.” 

At this moment, a shadow passed at some dis- 
tance among the leafless trees. It was a woman 
who, without being observed, had witnessed the 
duel. 

“Ah! it is the other!” she cried on seeing de 
Maurange fall. “Never mind. Marquis Sanchez, 
you are under the protection of hell; but by the 
sufferings of him who is no more, I swear again, 
that nothing, less than death, will cure my hate. 
And now, happy lover, go, go and marry Clotilde.” 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE HOUSE AT NEUILLY. 

Maurice had fainted when he fell. Sylvan, with 
the quickness of a skilled practitioner placed a 
temporary bandage on the wound. They were con- 
sidering how to transport George to his rooms. 

“It is impossible to have him conveyed in a car- 
riage,” said Sylvan. “So long as the ball is not 
extracted, there is danger of internal hemorrhage 
which the slightest movement might bring on.” 

“How can we manage it then.?” said de Chambly 
shivering* 

“Let one of you return to Paris at once; I will 
give you an order on the hospital to send a covered 
litter immediately,” replied Sylvan 

“I am ready to go,” said d’Arth^ville; “but the 
night is falling — And while waiting here, what will 
you do?” 

In fact the duel had taken place at a very late 
hour. The wounded man could not be left therQ. 

A woman’s voice was heard speaking. 

m 195 


196 


THE HOUSE AT NEUILLY 


“Pardon me, gentlemen.” 

All present turned round. The one who had just 
spoken was the stranger who had purchased the 
marquis* life from George that very morning 
• “I heard a pistol shot a moment ago, gentle- 
men,” she said. “I guessed what had ta^en place 
as well as the very awkward position you would 
find yourself in. Will you allow me to offer hos- 
pitality to your friend! My country house is not 
far from here.” 

The proposal was a singular one. The one who 
made it was young and beautiful. Durouget could 
not repress a smile in spite of the solemnity of the 
occasion De Chambly was too cold to understand 
what it was all about. The doctor alone remained 
calm and unmoved. He thought only of the 
wounded man. The young woman waited. Sylvan 
looked at her searchingly. The four witnesses 
watched the doctor. 

“I accept,” said the latter. “Come, gentlemen, 
we must try and construct a litter for Monsieur de 
Maurange ourselves.” 

“That is not necessary, gentlemen,” said the 
stranger. ^ 

She then, with her left hand, took hold of a 
small whistle which hung suspended from a belt 


THE HOUSE AT NEUILLY 


197 


under her mantle, and raising it to her lips made 
the woods echo with a clear sharp whistle. At the 
call, a new personage made his appearance. He 
was an old man, with bronzed skin, tall and thin, 
with piercing eyes. A sort of blackish parchment 
covered his prominent cheek bones, and a long white 
beard and mustache covered his thin lips under 
a straight and pointed nose. 

His eyes were black, his teeth long and regular. 
A long, dark garment, more like a robe than a coat, * 
enveloped him from head to foot, and as a head- 
dress, he wore a fur cap in the form of a cone, 
giving the finishing touch to his striking appearance. 
The cap was black. His long white hair escaped 
from under it. The eyebrows alone of this sigular 
individual had lost nothing of their original tint 
of ebony. He came forward leisurely to the young 
woman. 

“ Order them to bring the palanquin here, Schiba, ” 
she said to him. 

At this request, the old man took in his turn a 
whistle hidden under his robe and gave a piercing 
whistle, having a different sound from the one used 
by his mistress. 

A few seconds passed, during which all the 
seconds waited in silence, then the snow cracked 


198 


THE HOUSE AT NEUILLY 


under the weight of several persons, and presently, 
four men, carrying a palanquin, joined the group 
formed round the figure of the wounded man. 
These men, young and strong, clothed in a fashion 
almost analogous to that worn by the old Indian, 
seemed, by the skillful manner in which they 
handled the palanquin, to belong to that numerous 
class of bahis^ noted in India for their vigor, the 
rapidity with which they walk and the regularity of 
their tread. Such an equipage, in a corner of the 
Bois de Boulogne surpassed imagination. The 
palanquin was placed on the ground. The stranger 
spoke in an Indian dialect to Schiba. The old 
man made a sign. The four men approached the 
wounded man. Sylvan, still bending over George, 
got up quickly to prevent them from touching him. 

“You need not be afraid, doctor,” explained the 
stranger, “they are very skillful.” 

The friendly smile accompanying this speech 
disarmed the doctor’s doubts. He gave place to 
the bearers, and they lifted and placed de Mau- 
range in the palanquin with a delicacy of handling 
hardly to be surpassed by the most practiced 
nurses. 

“Let us go, gentlemen,” said the stranger. 

They started. Schiba led the way, then followed 


tHE HOUSE AT NEUILLY 


199 


the palanquin, borne on the shoulders of the bahis. 
The four seconds followed, and the doctor, with 
the stranger were, for a moment, left alone. 
Sylvan, who was standing on her right, offered 
her his arm. She passed to the other side and 
took his right arm. Durouget and d’Arth^ville 
talked while walking. 

‘‘What a singular adventure,’’ said Durouget. 

“Singular indeed,” said d’Artheville. 

“That devil of a George has Indian princesses at 
his call,” continued Durouget. 

“You do not know what you are speaking about, 
Durouget; that woman is no more Indian than we 
are. Her attendants are, but she is not; she is 
more southern in her type.” 

“You think so.^”’ 

“I am sure of it.” 

“What do you think, de Chambly.!”’ 

“I shall give my opinion the first fire we come 
across. Brrr — ” 

i “Poor de Chambly ! he would ice a bottle of 
champagne only by looking at it!” cried Durouget. 

The conversation between Sylvan and the young 
woman was more serious. 

“What do you think of this wound, doctor she 
asked. 


200 


THE HOUSE AT NEUILLY 


“I cannot exactly determine yet, madame; all 
depends on the operation I am about to make, as 
soon as we arrive.” 

The improvised caravan reached the spot where 
the carriage had stopped. D’Arth^ville drew 
Sylvan aside: 

“You will not leave your patient?” 

“Most certainly not.” 

“Would you like one of us to accompany you? 

“No. I shall call in at the club this evening and 
give you all news of him.” 

Gaston dared not insist. 

“Very well then, until then, good bye. But tell 
me, does this young woman not awaken your curi- 
osity?” 

“She does, I confess it, but she is doing me a 
great service, if I save de Maurange, he will owe 
his life to her.” 

Schiba, still followed by the bahis^ entered a side 
alley; he then stopped them and came back to the 
stranger. The four seconds made a halt for 
a moment. “Adieu,” said Sylvan to them, “take 
my carriage. I will find one at Neuilly.” 

“I can send you back in mine, monsieur,” said 
the young woman. 

The seconds bowed. 


THE HOUSE AT NEUILLY 201 

“Adieu, gentlemen,” she added. 

“Sahib sulamut,”* said Schiba in Hindostanee. 

Then when Durouget, d’Arth^ville, de Chambly 
and the other second had left to get into their car- 
riages: 

! “Go on,” said the unknown to Schiba again 
taking the doctor's arm. 

The bahis^ on a sign from the old man, resumed 
their slow measured walk, so regular that the 
wounded man never felt the slightest movement. 

It was now almost dark. 

Have we far to go, madame.^” demanded Sylvan. 

“We shall arrive in a quarter of an hour.” 

A third whistle was heard a few instants later. 

“What is the meaning of that demanded Sylvan. 

“It is Schiba, to let my people know of our 
return.” 

However preoccupied he might be about his 
patient, the doctor began to be astonished. 

The stranger divined this. 

“The manner in which I am served surprises you, 
monsieur.^” she observed, “but nothing is more 
simple. I am wealthy and have lived in India 
several years, those men whom you see, including 
even Schiba, are slaves, and what appears to you 


'May God be with you.' 


202 


THE HOUSE AT NEUILLY 


singular here, would be a very ordinary occurrence 
at Calcutta or Bombay. And look, Schiba’s orders 
have been understood; here they are, come to 
meet us.” 

Sylvan looked up. The wood seemed illumin- 
ated. Several figures bearing lighted torches ad- 
vanced towards the palanquin. The glare from the 
torches on the snow produced a fantastic effect by 
defining the skeleton outlines of the naked branches 
of the trees against the deep, black blue, of the 
winter sky. A few minutes later, the torch joined 
the bearers of the palanquin, and the rest of the 
walk was finished by the light of the moving flame. 
Arrived at one of the outlets of the Bois opening 
on the highroad running along the banks of the 
Seine, Schiba, followed by his men, led them up a 
small pathway to the left, and passing through 
a magnificent gateway into a large garden, in the 
midst of which stood a house of rare architectural 
beauty. 

De Maurange had recovered consciousness, but 
was still confused; it was only when he was placed 
on the bed of a richly furnished room on the ground 
floor, that he began to comprehend what had hap- 
pened to him. 

“Who are you.^*” he demanded of Schiba. 


tHE HOUSE At NEUILLY 


203 


“Chop,”* replied the Indian. 

“But where am I? Who are these men?” 

“Friends,” replied Sylvan drawing near him, 

“Ah! it is you, doctor! I am wounded, am I 
not? — And the marquis?” 

“Nothing happened to him,” said in her turn, 
the stranger, approaching the bed. “You kept 
your word.” 

“You!” exclaimed George stupefied. 

“Silence; do not say another word; the least 
emotion might be fatal. Come, doctor, do your 
duty. Schiba and my attendants will wait on 
you.” 

This brought Sylvan back to the reality. Seeing 
that the stranger and de Maurange were acquainted, 
he had yielded, in spite of himself, to a series of 
the wildest suppositions. But now he quickly 
undid his case of instruments and began the opera- 
tion. In a moment the ball was extracted. 
Schiba. held a flask to George’s nostrils. The 
operation had been painful; the ball, tearing 
through the flesh had penetrated to an extremely 
sensitive part of the body. When all was over, 
and a fresh bandage arranged: 

“Ah! you have plenty of pluck. Monsieur de 
Maurange !” said Sylvan admiringly. 

♦ “Silence.” 


204 


THE HOUSE AT NEUILLY 


“I did not feel anything/’ said George. 

Sylvan threw an enquiring glance across at 
Schiba, who contented himself by replying with a 
meaning smile, as he replaced the flask in his 
pocket. 

“Doctor,” then said George, “will I recover.?” 

“If you keep perfectly still, I can answer for it.” 

“And how long will it be before I am on my feet 
again.?” 

“In about three weeks. Only, don’t speak; the 
least effort might prove fatal.” 

“One more question, the last.” 

“Well.” 

“Where is de Chambly.?” 

“He has gone back to Paris with the other 
seconds.” 

“Ah! thank you, doctor.” 

“She will have my letter this evening,” he 
thought. “Ah! Monsieur d’Aviella, you are not 
yet Monsieur Schunberg’s son-in-law.” 

The stranger addressed some words in Hindo- 
stanee to Schiba, then approaching the bed: • 

“You must make yourself quite at home,” said 
she to George, “order anything you require. 
Schiba will understand and see that you are obeyed. 
Keep yourself calm. To-morrow, I will explain 


THE HOUSE AT NEUILLY 


20 ^ 


how you came here. Adieu. Doctor, will you be 
good enough to come into my boudoir; I have 
something I wish to say to you while they bring 
the carriage round to drive you back to Paris/’ 

‘‘With pleasure, madame!” 

Sylvan and the stranger passed into the adjoin- 
ing room. The word boudoir, which the young 
woman had used, was really the only one which 
could apply to this apartment. A vast divan, 
covered with Indian cashmere adorned one side of 
the room. The walls were draped with the same 
rich material, while jardinieres filled with the rarest 
plants, perfumed the atmosphere. Flowers in full 
bloom were placed in priceless china vases, and to 
judge from their extreme freshness, replenished 
every day. A soft carpet covered the floor, while 
a large mirror, framed in hanging of the same 
color as those of the walls, reached from the mantle 
to the ceiling. A hanging lamp threw across a 
globe of pink crystal, a vivid light which enhanced 
the luxurious aspect of this charming abode. 

“Let us sit down while we talk,” said the lovely 
stranger pointing out a circular divan to Sylvan. 

He obeyed. 

His hostess took a low chair and placed herself 
before him, turning her back to the light. In this 


2o6 the house at neuilly 

way she could see the doctor’s features perfectly, 
while Sylvan could only see her’s imperfectly. 

“I have known Monsieur de Maurange a long 
time, she continued, “You must have remarked 
that we are not strangers to each other.” 

“I did perceive as much, madame.” 

“We are friends, nothing more.” 

“Oh! madame!” 

“I understand, doctor; you would not think of 
questioning me, you wish to say nevertheless, let 
me explain. I knew of this duel, and feared it 
would end as it has done. What is of importance 
now, is that no one should know of Monsieur de 
Maurange’s presence in my house. But first, 
monsieur, do you know the cause of this encounter.?” 

“Yes, madame, a quarrel over a game of cards.” 

“Ah! Then you do not know it.” 

“That is, at least, what I was told by the Mar- 
quis d’Aviella’s seconds.” 

“They think so, but they have been deceived. 
The quarrel at the gaming table of which they 
spoke to you, was only a pretext; the real cause 
was a woman !” 

“A woman!” repeated Sylvan. 

“Yes, a young girl, whom Monsieur de Maurange 
and the marquis both love. I can give you her 


THE HOUSE AT NEUILLY 


207 


name; an entire confidence will alone ensure your 
discretion. The young girl is Mademoiselle Schun- 
berg.’^ 

“The banker’s daughter.?’* 

“The same. I am a widow, free, still young; 
some say beautiful. If she hears that I have re- 
ceived Monsieur George into my house, unjust 
suspicions may ruin him forever in her esteem; 
that is why I request you to tell your friends, that 
the operation over, you were able to have M. de 
Maurange transported to his own rooms, and he is 
now there. Can I count upon you.?” 

“Yes, madame. I appreciate the delicacy of 
feeling which prompts you to act thus, and will 
prove to you that I am willing to carry out your 
wishes.” 

“That is well.” 

One of the bahis entered at the sound of a bell 
on which the stranger had pressed her finger. He 
answered by a sign in the affirmative to a question 
which his mistress addressed to him in Hindostanee. 

“The carriage is waiting for you,” she said to 
Sylvan. “I do not wish to waste your time, which 
I know must be valuable, doctor.” 

“Thank you, madame, I shall return to-morrow 
to see my patient.” 


2o8 


THE HOUSE AT NEUILLY 


“Very well, doctor; but it is understood he is at 
home in his own rooms?’’ 

“Perfectly so, madame.” 

“Then good bye, doctor.” 

“Good bye, madame.” 

Sylvan bowed and left the room. He found a 
well appointed coupe awaiting him in the yard, 
which as soon as he entered, carried him at a rapid 
pace to Paris. The stranger, left alone, rang three 
times. Schiba appeared. 

“Where do you come from?” demanded the 
young woman in Hindostanee, astonished to see 
him enter by the door opposite to the one com- 
municating with the bed chamber of the wounded 
man. 

“The Sahib sent me away; he wished to be left 
alone to sleep.” 

“What do you think of his wound?” 

“I think that if Vechnon aids me, he will be 
quite well in eight days.” 

“That is well. I shall count upon it,” 


CHAPTER X. 


LOVE FEVER. 

It was nearly eight o’clock in the evening when 
Sylvan, after leaving Neuilly in the stranger’s car- 
riage, passed a cab going in the direction of the 
house he had just left. This cab, in which sat 
Madame Firmin, stopped before the gate of the 
garden in the midst of which the stranger’s dwelling 
was situated. 

“Shall I drive to the house door P^Memanded the 
driver. 

“No,” replied Clotilde’s governess, descending 
from the cab; “wait for me here.” 

So saying, she disappeared through a small side 
door and walked up to the principal entrance like 
a person well acquainted with the place. Some 
moments afterwards, one of the servants came and 
conducted her to the boudoir where we left the 
stranger with Schiba. 

“You, so late?” exclaimed the mistress of the 
house on seeing the companion, “you have some- 
thing important to tell me?” 


210 


LOVE FEVER 


‘‘Yes, madame.” 

“Speak then. Schiba, leave us.” 

“Yes, mistress, I am going; it is the hour of 
prayer. I will join your name with Baxios-ahib’s 
and Nahoua’s. May Vichua grant them happiness 
for eternity and may Brahma avenge us by deliv- 
ering us from our enemies!” said the old Indian in 
a solemn tone of voice. Then he left. 

Madame Firmin was probably as well acquainted 
with Schiba as she was with the house, for the 
strange words she listened to did not seem to sur- 
prise her. 

“I am ready to listen,” said the stranger when 
the khansaman had disappeared. 

“We are going away.” 

“Where toi^” 

“I do not know.” 

“Since when have you known this?” 

“Since this morning.” 

“And who told you?” 

“Mademoiselle Clotilde.” 

“Why did you lose so much time in coming to 
tell me ?” • , 

“I came here at half past four, madame, but 
you had gone out, and so had M. Schiba. Know- 
ing I would be free this evening, I returned to the 


LOVE FEVER 


2II 


hotel, promising myself to come back here as soon 
as mademoiselle left for the Italiens with her 
father, and it was a fortunate thought, for here is 
what I found on returning home.” 

“What is it?” 

“An anonymous letter which I am requested to 
hand to Mademoiselle, accompanying this demand 
with a note for five hundred francs.” 

A vague murmur, something like a sigh, sounded 
at this moment, Madame Firmin was slightly 
deaf; and the young woman was so preoccupied 
that she did not notice it. 

“And this letter, have you got it with you?” 

“Yes, madame, here it is.” 

The stranger took the letter and opened it. 
When she had glanced over it, a livid pallor over- 
spread her features, her lips turned blue, and her 
whole frame shivered as she gasped: 

“Who could have discovered his crime?” 

“Heavens! what is the matter with you, 
madame?” said Madame Firmin, seeing the emotion 
of the stranger. 

Instead of answering, the latter signed to her to 
be silent, and with her eyes fixed on the anonymous 
letter, appeared to abandon herself to the most 
absorbing thought. The governess waited respect- 

14E 


212 


LOVE FEVER 


fully. Suddenly, the stranger got up and hurriedly 
rang the bell three times; then waited impatiently. 

Very soon, Schiba reappeared. 

“Here, look!’’ said the young woman holding out 
the letter to him. 

The agitation the khansam^an felt after reading 
it, was not inferior to what his mistress had shown. 
Only his bronze face remained impassible and 
except for a slight tremor in his hands, this emotion 
would not have been perceptible to any one. 

“Schiba,” said the stranger, “we must discover 
the person who knows this secret.” 

“I will discover it, mistress.” 

“Here, madame,” said the young woman, ad- 
dressing Madame Firmin, “the service you have 
rendered me to-day is worthy of a large reward. 
Take this diamond, it is worth 5000 francs; I give 
it to you.” 

“Five thousand francs!” gasped the governess, 
completely dazzled with delight as she seized the 
ring offered to her. 

“Yes, but listen to me. Do you know where this 
letter came from.^” 

“No, madame .J”’ 

“Who left it at the hotel 

“A very fashionable looking, elderly gentleman.” 


LOVE FEVER 


213 


“And this gentleman? did you ever see him be- 
fore?^’ 

“No, madame. The footman could not pro- 
nounce his name/’ 

“Could he recognize it, if he heard it again?” 

“I did not ask him that, madame.” 

“At what hour was the letter delivered?” 

“About six o’clock.” 

It will be seen that de Chambly had not taken 
time to dine before executing George’s commission. 

“It must have been already dark; I suppose the 
footman could not distinguish the bearer’s features ?” 
continued the young woman. 

“No, madame, I do not think so.” 

“Then we can find out nothing through him. 
But this writing, is it quite unknown to you ?” 

“Quite, madame.” 

“We must, however, find out who this letter 
came from, must we not, Schiba?” 

“Yes, mistress.” 

“Will you return it to me, madame?” 

“For what purpose?” 

“To give it to Mademoiselle Clotilde.” 

“No. Mademoiselle Schunberg must not see this 
letter.” 

“Ah!” — gasped a voice from behind the curtains. 

“What is that, Schiba?” 


214 


LOVE FEVER 


“The wounded man who is doubtless awakening, 
mistress.” 

“You must go and attend to him; but first, let 
us burn this letter it is of no importance, for this 
Lakhmi has never existed, and this dark accusation 
is only a calumny. Let us burn it.” 

She held the letter to a taper which the old In- 
dian had lighted for her and threw the burning 
paper into the fireplace, where it was immediately 
consumed. y 

“Stop! — Stop!” — cried out a voice. 

The door was thrown violently open. The three 
occupants of the room turned round. Madame 
Firmin gave a cry of terror. George de Maurange, 
livid and with blood stained garments had just en- 
tered and allowing himself to drop on the divan, 
repeated in an imperious and despairing voice: 

“Stop! — ^Stop! — don’t burn that letter!” 

“Too late!” said Schiba. 

De Maurange, when he begged the khansaman 
to leave him alone, was only dozing. The shock 
inflicted on his body by the dangerous wound he 
had received, had been productive of fever, violent 
enough to exercise a powerful influence on his 
ideas. The smiling image of Clotilde crossed his 
thoughts and brightened them as a star lights up 



“stop! stop! don’t burn that letter.” P. 214, 



LOVE FEVER 


215 


the sky. She seemed to him more beautiful, more 
radient than ever. He could almost feel the blonde 
perfumed tresses of the banker’s daughter against 
his face. 

A feeling of extreme quietude, approaching to 
tenderness took possession of him; his more positive 
ideas vanished, his heart opened and Clotilde’s 
presence seemed to shed a halo of love and peace 
all around him. Then, before long, he became the 
victim of a hideous nightmare, full of fever and ex- 
citement, shadow and light. The shadow was 
Sanchez, with raised pistol, pale features, com- 
pressed lips, shooting from his eyes and mouth 
balls enveloped in thick, black smoke which entered 
into George’s body, burning as lava, incisive as the 
teeth of a panther. The light was Clotilde, smil- 
ing, vaporous, bending over him with a look of 
innocent love. Weakened by the loss of blood, de 
Maurange struggled with these two images and 
ended by completely banishing the sinister image 
of d’Aviella and retaining only the soothing gentle 
apparition of Clotilde. 

At this moment, he loved her, not her princely 
fortune, but herself, alone. Life without her seemed 
perdition. This overthrow of all his ideas was so 
violent that he was astonished at himself; but this 


2i6 


LOVE FEVER 


surprise was of short duration, and he soon yielded 
to the full indulgence of his love. 

^‘Clotilde, dear Clotilde,^’ he murmured, “I shall 
live only to love you, angel of innocence and beauty; 
all my heart and devotion belongs to you hence- 
forth. 

The room in which de Maurange was lying, was 
only separated from the boudoir by a thin partition. 
Madame Firmin’s arrival broke the silence reigning 
around the wounded man. The governess’ voice 
was unknown to him, but the name of Clotilde as 
she pronounced it, arrested his attention, and very 
soon, he did not doubt but that the letter handed 
to his hostess by Madame Firmin, was the one ad- 
dressed to her by himself. This discovery came 
upon him like a thunder clap. 

Without being able to take a clear view of the 
situation in its entire bearing, he only fully com- 
prehended the unfavorable side; he said to himself 
that Clotilde, being ignorant of the marquis’ crime, 
would no longer hesitate to marry him, and he 
would not have this happen, should he undergo a 
thousand deaths to prevent it. 

“I must get back that letter, that woman must 
give it to her mistress,’^ he reflected. will con- 
vince this singular woman in whose house I am, 
that this must be. Ah ! yes, I must !” 


LOVE FEVER 


217 


By a singular coincidence, and as if the stranger 
answered in reply to his thoughts, it was at that 
very instant that she said: 

“No, Mademoiselle Schunberg must not see this 
letter.” 

George tried to call out to protest against this 
decision, but his voice died away in his throat; he 
made an effort to raise himself, and fell back on 
the pillows with a moan of pain. When after- 
wards, he heard his hostess deny the perpetration 
of the crime Manoel knew his master to be guilty 
of, his agitation redoubled, then at last, at the 
words “Let us burn it!” which destroyed all his 
plans and must forever ruin his hopes, despair gave 
him strength. Uniting all that was left of energy 
and strength, supporting himself on the furniture 
as he went along, he reached the other room, and 
fell exhausted on the divan in the boudoir, to the 
great alarm and terror of Madame Firmin and the 
profound astonishment of Schiba and the stranger. 
Without hearing the khansaman, George under- 
stood by the odor of burned paper that the letter 
no longer existed. 

“Oh! this is infamous!” he cried, “what right 
had you to destroy that letter.^ I made a bargain 
with you, it is true, and kept my part loyally. 


2I8 


LOVE FEVER 


That letter contained only the truth; the marquis 
d’Aviella is a murderer!” 

“Who told you?” 

“That is my secret! We have both sercets, 
madame! Do I know by what feelings you are 
guided? Do I know why you burned this letter? 
Do I know how it happens that this woman,” — 
he pointed to Madame Firmin — “is your accom- 
plice in the dark plot you are contriving against 
me?” 

“Against you?” 

“Yes, against me! This morning you prevented 
me from killing the marquis, this evening, you 
prevent me from denouncing him to the woman I 
love, and thus secure his happiness at the expense 
of my own.” 

“This anonymous letter was then from you?” 

“Who else besides myself would have thought of 
saving Clotilde! Lakhmi, the slave, did exist. 
Such truths are never invented; she was murdered 
by d’Aviella; I was right in my first conjecture, 
that man is a monster.” 

“But who told you?” 

“You will never know. I am tired of this species 
of authority which you have exercised over me 
for several hours past. Who are you? I do not 


LOVE FEVER 


219 


know. You dazzled me for a moment by your 
promises, and I yielded; now, I am here in your 
house. I do not know how, or why. All I under- 
stand is that it is through you I am losing Clotilde, 
and I will not lose her. I love her well enough to 
die in order to spare her one tear, not for her 
fortune, but for herself. Take back your gold. I 
do not want it, but do not interfere with my affairs 
again. You have no right to do so, and I forbid 
it!” 

He stopped, exhausted by the violence of his 
passion. 

“You had better leave us,” said the young woman 
to the governess, “and forget all you have seen 
and heard.” 

“Madame can count upon my devotion.” 

“Don't go,” said George making another effort. 
“I shall write another note, and I beg you, let 
Clotilde have it.” 

The tone in which the young man said these 
words was so heartrending that Madame Firmin, 
who was just crossing the threshold of the door, 
stopped. 

“What are you waiting for.? You know that I 
alone command here!” said the stranger to the 
governess. 


2^0 LOVE FEVER 

f 

Madame Firmin hastened to obey. 

“Ah exclaimed George, “you wish that this 
marriage should take place.? But you may adopt 
what means you like, it shall never be. I will go 
away from here. I will act for myself!” 

He stood up, pale and trembling as he uttered 
these words. 

“Where are you going.?” 

“I am going to leave this house this instant! 
where you seem to imprison me.” 

“Be calm for a moment; this excitement may 
lead to serious consequences.” 

“I prefer death, to life without Clotilde! Let 
me pass, I will go.” 

“Wait until to-morrow, and I will explain every- 
thing.” 

“To-morrow Clotilde may be married!” replied 
George, his exasperation reaching its height. 
“Let me pass!” 

And seizing with surprising force the stranger’s 
right hand, he tried by a sudden pull to make her 
move away from the door, before which she had 
taken up her position; but the young woman re- 
mained stationary, her arm alone being affected by 
the vigorous wrench which the wounded man had 
given her. Under George’s effort, this arm, 


LOVE FEVER 


221 


lengthened out beyond measure, the cold, hard 
hand remaining in his feverish grasp, and when, 
mad with terror at the sight of this strange specta- 
cle, George let it drop, the hand fell helplessly 
down by the young woman’s side, until it nearly 
touched the floor. 

“Ah! my God!” said he, “she is a demon!” 

He fell his full length on the floor. Schiba and 
the stranger rushed to his assistance. George 
was as pale as death; a slight red foam rose to his 
lips. 

“Look, look, Schiba!” 

“The bandage has moved, he is choking, 
mistress!” 

“He must be saved at any cost. I must know 
how he has found out our secret; do you under- 
stand, Schiba.^ I do not wish him to die. His 
love for Clotilde interferes with our plans, but he 
must be induced to listen to reason.” 

“If he recovers, that will be an easy matter, mis- 
tress, for it was not his heart that was speaking it 
was the fever; I could see that.” 

“All the more reason for saving him. Ah! look, 
the blood is coming more quickly, make haste!” 

“There is only one practicable method of saving 
him, but neither you nor I can employ it.” 


222 


LOVE FEVER 


“What is it?” 

“To put your lips to the wound and suck the 
blood so as to relieve the flow to the chest. I 
have not enough strength, and it would disgust 
you, mistress.” 

“What is to be done?” 

“His moments are counted, he will die.” 

“Ah! my God! All is lost! But no. I have 
thought ot something, call the bahis,^'^ 

Schiba quickly threw open the door after having 
first supported George’s head on a cushion, which 
seemed for a moment to arrest the hemorrhage, and 
gave two whistles. Three of the Indians who had 
carried the palanquin on which the wounded man 
had been transported, appeared. 

“A thousand rupees for the one who will suck 
the wound of this man!” said the young woman. 

One of the newcomers instantly knelt down over 
the wounded man and fastened his lips to the 
wound that Schiba had uncovered. While this 
experiment was going on, the old Indian drew from 
a small carved box, a large, black pill, and held it 
to the candle. A singular, strangely aromatic 
odor filled the apartment. An instant later, George 
breathed. 

“Enough,” said Schiba to the bahis. 


LOVE FEVER 


223 


He then approached the wounded man, lifted his 
head gently and holding the pill over his lips, 
pressed it, and a drop of Vermillion colored fluid 
slowly flowed into George’s mouth. He opened 
his eyes almost at the same moment. 

“Well, what do you think.^” said the unknown 
anxiously. 

“Oh! now, mistress, I can answer for him.” 

An hour later, the unknown said to Schiba: 

“Is it time.?” 

“Yes, but I repeat again,” he replied, “that this 
experiment will be most dangerous, considering 
the extreme weakness of the wounded man.” 

“Do you not like to attempt it?” 

“Order and I will obey, mistress.” 

“I do not wish to go to sleep to-night until I 
find out how he discovered the marquis’ crime.” 

“Then, I shall proceed,” replied Schiba standing 
up. 

He stooped over the sufferer and having made 
him inhale from the same flask which had made 
him so completely unconscious while Sylvan was 
dressing his wound, placed one hand on his head 
and with the other closed his eyes, placing the 
thumb on the right eyeball and the first finger on 
the left« De Maurange remained inert and quiet 


224 


LOVE FEVER 


incapable of pronouncing a word. Schiba remained 
a long time in this position. At last, the invalid 
heaved a deep sigh, conveying the impression of 
complete beatitude. 

“He sleeps,” said the old Indian. 

“Will he speak 

“He will. I wish you to speak,” he said ad- 
dressing the wounded man. 

“I will speak,” murmured George with an effort. 

“Come near, mistress, and listen.” 

The young woman obeyed. 

“Take his hand and interrogate him yourself.” 

“Who told you,” said the unknown, “the marquis 
was a murderer?” 

“Speak!” ordered Schiba in a tone of authority. 

“No,” replied the wounded man. “I shall not 
speak.” 

“I wish it!” said the unknown with authority. 

“I wish it!” repeated Schiba. 

“You will know nothing.” 

“You see, Schiba, he will not speak.” 

“Patience, mistress!” 

And fixing his piercing eyes on de Maurange 
with an eagle like glance, the khansaman saturated 
him with all the magnetic fluid which he could 
dispose of. 


LOVE FEVER 


225 


“Speak,” ordered he again, making George once 
more inhale the contents of the flask. “How did 
you learn that the marquis had committed this 
crime ?” 

De Maurange’s face expressed extreme agony; 
he seemed to struggle with all his remaining 
strength against this invisible power which the old 
Indian exercised over him. 

“Speak,” repeated the latter in a firm voice, 
“Who told you the marquis was a murderer.!^” 

George made a last effort to resist, but his lips 
opened in spite of himself and these words escaped 
him: 

“A negro.” 

“His name?” 

“Yes, his name?” repeated the unknown 

“Manoel.” 

The young woman and Schiba exchanged a look 
of intelligence. 

“Enough, enough, mistress!” said the old Indian, 
“he cannot bear any more.” 

In fact, de Maurange, a prey to strange excite- 
ment, began to tremble violently. 

“I know all I wanted,” said the young woman, 
abandoning her hold of the wounded man’s hand;, 
“we must gain over Manoel” 


226 


LOVE FEVER 


Schiba was bending over George making him 
inhale from the flask. 

The latter’s face soon assumed its former calm 
expression and his body was again in repose. 

“Now, let us think of to-morrow, Schiba! You 
know what I have told you; this man is necessary 
to my plans, his love for Clotilde is not serious. 
Once cured, he belongs to us. Only, I do not 
wish the doctor to see him again. We require 
solitude in order to pursue our work. Invent some 
means by which we can prevent Monsieur Sylvan 
from seeing his patient.” 

“I have thought of it already, and found it, 
mistress.” 

“And what is it.^^” 

“You will soon learn.” 

Saying these words, Schiba got up and went out, 
but soon reappeared, holding a writing case and 
ink bottle in his hands. 

“Are you going to write, Schiba.^” 

“I am not, but he is,” he answered indicating 
George. 

“Monsieur de Maurange! It is impossible. How 
can he, in his present state of weakness, manage 
even to hold a pen?” 

“He will hold a pen, and write,” said Schiba, 


LOVE FEVER 


227 


bringing a table near to George, and placing within 
reach of his hand a pen dipped in ink and a sheet 
of note paper. 

The young woman watched the preparation her 
companion busied himself about, with curious 
interest; but the expression of doubt on her coun- 
tenance indicated the little amount of faith she had 
in the extraordinary experiment the old Indian had 
undertaken. The latter perceived it, and repeated; 

“He will write, mistress, he will write.” 

“But to whom.^” 

“To the French doctor.” 

“And what will he write 

“Whatever you dictate.” 

“And what must I dictate.^” 

“A letter explaining to the doctor that his patient 
has left this very evening for Poiton, so that he 
may be nursed by his own family.” 

“I understand.” 

“Be prepared; take his hand, mistress, and be- 
gin as soon as you see him holding the pen.” 

“I am ready.” 

The old Indian passed behind George, darting 
again one of his piercing looks on him; he then 
placed his hand on the wounded man’s head, and 
seemed to concentrate the full force of his will on 

15E 


228 


LOVE FEVER 


him. Then a most extraordinary thing took place. 
As if he had been moved by some invisible power, 
George, his eyes still closed, raised himself slowly, 
took the pen, held it over the paper and pro- 
nounced the word: 

“Dictate!” 

Mute with astonishment the young woman re- 
mained silent. 

“Dictate! Dictate! mistress, every moment is 
precious, if you do not wish him to die.” 

“Dear doctor,” said the unknown slowly, watch- 
ing the sick man’s pen, which traced each word as 
she pronounced it, “you have wrought a miracle. 
I cannot remain any longer here. I leave this 
evening for Poiton, accompanied by the old steward 
of the friend who was kind enough to receive me 
here. I shall soon send you more news. 

“George de Maurange.” 

The letter was finished. 

“Let me act now, mistress, and I must lose no 
time,” said Schiba. 

Carefully supporting the wounded man, he 
placed him in a horizontal position; then, opening, 
by the aid of a poignard, his clenched teeth, he 
administered one drop of a red fluid contained in 
a flask he had placed on the table at the same time 


LOVE FEVER 


229 


with the writing case. Then he watched the sick 
man attentively. His countenance was cadaverous 
in its pallor, his eyes were staring widely open, 
looking dull and glazed. 

“Ah! he is dying!” cried the young woman. 

“No, no, mistress.” 

In truth this horrible crisis lasted only a moment, 
and soon the wounded man dropped into a deep 
sleep, as calm and peaceful as a child’s. 

“He will not die, mistress. I will answer for 
him.” 


CHAPTER XL 


clotilde’s test. 

Certain, having wounded George, of at least, 
six week’s tranquillity, the marquis d’Aviella re- 
solved to profit by them. Clotilde had promised 
to give him a definite answer at the Minister’s 
ball, which would take place in a few days; but 
these few days seemed to Sanchez like so many 
centuries and in his fever and anxiety, he conceived 
a project, which according to his ideas, ought to 
hasten matters. The marchioness had very gen- 
erously proposed to her son to assist him by asking 
the banker for his daughter’s hand; but the young 
man had refused this proposition, not wishing to 
take such a very decided step until he had gained 
the assent of the girl he loved. On the other 
hand, Clotilde having given him a positive promise, 
he considered it imprudent to press her too much 
directly. What he required was the assistance of 
a third person in whom the young girl had unlim- 
ited confidence, and whose position would enable 
him tp confide his secret to safely. 

230 


Clotilde’s test 


231 


Madame de Luneville, her godmother, united in 
herself all these qualities. The very evening of 
his duel with George, Sanchez presented himself 
at the hotel de Luneville. The baroness held a 
private reception that night. The marquis arrived 
at nine o’clock. In addressing himself to Madame 
de Luneville, with the view of enlisting her services 
as an ally, d’Aviella might have made a very 
serious mistake, for the baroness, as we know, had 
for some time past been dissuading Clotilde from 
any matrimonial project; but following the con- 
versation in which Mademoiselle Schunberg had 
informed her father of the marquis’ avowal to her, 
Isaac had held a serious consultation with Clotilde’s 
godmother and ended by gaining her over to his 
wishes and disposing her in favor of Sanchez. She 
frankly espoused the cause of the marquis, and 
without knowing yet of the proposed departure of 
the banker and his daughter, welcomed d’Aviella 
in the most cordial manner. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this early 
arrival, Monsieur le Marquis said she holding out 
her hand to him. 

“To the extreme pleasure I always take in talk- 
ing with you, baroness,” replied Sanchez; “then 
besides — ” 


232 


CLOTILDE S TEST 


“Ah! there is always a “ ‘then besides’?” I was 
sure of it. Must I come to your aid?” 

“Why should you?” 

“In explanation of that significant phrase.” 

“You foresee then what it meant?” 

“I can even translate it in a few syllables. It 
has reference to my goddaughter, has it not?” 

“Yes, madame. But how do you know.^” 

“Ah! that is my secret.” 

“Mademoiselle Clotilde — ” 

“Has not said a word to me. I can only assure 
you that you have a very good chance, and that I 
am quite ready to plead your cause.” 

“Ah! madame, how good you are?” 

“Clotilde and her father are to be here to-night 
after they leave the opera; so you will have to 
languish until then.” 

The evening seemed interminable to Sanchez. 
He counted the minutes until the arrival of the 
banker and his daughter. After having bowed to 
Clotilde, who placed herself by the side of the 
baroness, he joined Schunberg, who had seated 
himself in a little boudoir. 

The banker welcomed him with his usual cordi- 
ality. Sanchez was a favorite of his, and the 
marquis had no fear of meeting with any obstacle 


Clotilde’s test 233 

from that quarter; but he was quite ignorant of 
the fact that Isaac’s blind love for his daughter 
would make him leave her entire mistress of her 
own choice. The baroness profitted by the absence 
of the marquis to speak frankly to Clotilde. The 
manner with which her young favorite listened 
proved to Madame de Luneville that her new pro- 
t^g^’s cause was not yet completely gained. 

*‘My father has allowed me a year to decide; 
until the expiration of that time, I do not wish to 
bind myself in any way.” 

“You are right; nevertheless, my dear Clotilde, 
the Marquis d’Aviella is a very charming young 
man.” 

“I agree with you that he has many good quali- 
ties, but marriage is such a serious step, that I 
ought to have time given me to reflect; do you 
not think so.^^” 

“You do not love Monsieur d’Aviella /then 

“Not well enough yet.” 

“But what am I to say to him.?” 

“Nothing. I am putting him to a test; you will 
know all about it very soon.” 

“A secret.?” 

“Yes. A great project which I have conceived 
and which the marquis will not enjoy.” 


234 


cLotilde’s test 


“Ah! And to what end, my darling?’^ 

“If the marquis really loves me, let him prove 
it to me. Oh! I have reflected seriously about it, 
and my resolution is irrevocable.*’ 

“And can you not give me a little hint that will 
enlighten me regarding this terrible resolution of 
yours 

“Have patience, dear baroness. But allow me 
to ass^ume and keep up my most severe air. Here 
is Monsiuer d’Aviella. I must begin this very 
evening to prepare him for his trial and show him 
that whatever degree of affection he has for me, I 
consider he was in a little too great a hurry to 
confide in you.” 

“And why, my dear Clotilde.^” 

“For a very simple reason; the respect due to 
such sentiments. Perhaps I am carrying my deli- 
cacy on this point too far, but I am disappointed 
that Monsieur d’Aviella did not sympathize and 
feel as I did. I still hesitated before coming here, 
but now, this proceeding on his part has complete- 
ly decided me.” 

“But about what, my sensitive little darling.?” 
“Hush! here is the marquis.” 

Sanchez approached them. The moment was 
a decisive one for him. He threw a questioning 
glance at Madame de Luneville. 


CLOTILDE^S TEST 


235 


The interview was embarrassing. Sanchez saw 
that he had offended, and in vain searched his 
mind for the cause. He redoubled his attentions 
to Clotilde, who accepted his homage with marked 
coldness. When about to take leave of his hostess: 

“What has happened, madame.^^’^ he demanded 
in an anxious undertone of the baroness. 

In a few words Clotilde’s godmother made him 
understand. 

The situation was serious for Sanchez, but dread 
had made him anticipate so many things, that he 
was relieved and almost happy on learning the 
true motive of Mademoiselle Schunberg’s coldness. 
He had, at first, imagined that she had not only 
heard of his duel with de Maurange, but, also, 
had divined the true cause. This supposition was, 
of course, unlikely, for every thing had combined 
to keep Clotilde in complete ignorance of the events 
of the day. 

In the first place, the seconds had promised to 
keep secret on the subject of the duel; then, George 
was not intimate enough at the hotel de Luneville 
to present himself at the private receptions; so no 
one would remark his absence, Clotilde less than 
any one else. These reflections passed quickly 
through the marquis’ mind, and as soon as the 


236 clotilde’s test 

banker and his daughter had left, he tried to justify 
the young girl in his own eyes, which he very soon 
succeeded in doing to his entire satisfaction. 

“Yes, she was right. I was in too great a 
hurry,” he reflected; “her annoyance is due to my 
own stupidity. I was a fool to wish to force her 
consent when everything was proceeding so favor- 
ably and I had but a few short days to wait? 
Curse my impatience. Clotilde is right; she has 
acted wisely. Her heart is a sanctuary in which 
no profane gaze may penetrate. Thank you, 
Clotilde, you do well to punish me.” 

This monologue only took a few seconds to in- 
dulge in. All these consolatory reflections flashed 
like lightning on his mind. 

The man who, a few hours before, had aimed at 
Goerge de Maurange’s heart, with only murder in 
his thoughts, without compassion for his manly 
strength, youth, future, and for those who might 
be left to mourn his loss, the sombre visaged San- 
chez had given place to the radiant Marquis 
d’Aviella. His look of confident happiness struck 
the Baroness de Lun^ville. 

“Consoled already, marquis?” she said. 

^ “Consoled already! How? What do you mean?” 
retorted d'Aviella affecting astonishment. 


clotilde’s test 


237 


“Why, the bad news I gave you!” 

“Madame la Baroness, will you permit me to be 
perfectly frank with you ?” 

“I beg you will, marquis.” 

“Very well, then! In this particular case, do 
not question me any more.” 

“Ah!” said the baroness, slightly raising her eye- 
brows. 

“I beg it as a favor. To-night I was guilty of a 
grave fault which I hope never to commit again. 
I am acting disgracefully, am I not, in asking you 
now not to occupy yourself any longer with my 
unworthy heart, when at its first appeal, you so 
graciously consented to second my dearest hopes; 
but be merciful, and without seeking to analyze 
my conduct, or guess the motives which actuate 
me, grant me what I ask in the name of the cordial 
kindness you have honored me with so far,” 

“The heart knoweth its own secrets,” said the 
baroness; “from this moment I am oblivious of 
everything, and you must promise never to speak 
of Clotilde to me again.” 

“Thank you,” said Sanchez, as he raised Madame 
de Luneville’s hand gratefully to his lips. 

The following evening, he again saw Clotilde at 
the Italiens. Generally, an almost involuntary 


clotilde’s test 


238 

sign, perceptible to him alone, made Sanchez un- 
derstand that he was recognized. The marquis' 
stall was almost facing the banker’s box. On the 
evening of which we speak, this mute call, this 
so ardently looked for a sign which the marquis 
never failed to discern with a delicate tact was now 
more than waited for; it was not given They 
were singing ‘‘Le Barbier,” and never had Clotilde 
listened to Patti with more rapt attention. Her 
eyes never wandered from the stage, but if they 
did abandon it for a moment, it was only to wel- 
come some new visitor. During two acts of inor- 
dinate length to Sanchez, he did not once meet 
Clotilde’s glance. He decided to go to Clotilde, 
since she would not deign even to throw a glance 
at him. He presented himself at the banker’s box. 

Durouget, d’Arth^ville and a young fellow called 
Monsieur de Vardes, whose silly compliments were 
proverbial, were already installed near Isaac and 
his daughter. The latter had seen the marquis 
leave his place, heard the door open, and divining 
who had entered, took the lorgnette and without 
turning round, feigned to be engaged examining 
the fashionable toilettes of the ladies. Sanchez 
noticed this little maneuvei, and after having 
bowed to Schunberg and shaken hands with his 


clotilde’s test 


239 


seconds of the previous day, he waited patiently 
for the young girl to take some notice of his pres- 
ence. Unconscious of t,he coquettish skirmish tak- 
ing place at this moment, and attributing Clotilde’s 
more than cool reception of his young friend to 
simple distraction, Isaac touched his daughter’s 
arm. Her eyes met Sanchez’s look of respectful 
reproach. They bowed, and Mademoiselle Schun- 
berg, taking up her opera glass, continued her 
examination of the house. This conduct was very 
depressing to the marquis. He withdrew as quickly 
as he could without displaying any annoyance, 
leaving Clotilde to listen to the vapid compliments 
of Monsieur de Vardos. 


CHAPTER XII. 


THE DEPARTURE. 

The day of the Minister’s ball, so impatiently 
waited for by Sanches, at last arrived. In a great 
state of anxiety he went there. His fate would be 
decided now. One word was to transform his 
whole future life into long continued felicity, or 
render it forever desolate and hopeless. Like all 
minds occupied by one special idea, he had pictured 
in advance what would probably take place be- 
tween Clotilde and himself. In advance he tasted 
the rapture of listening to her reply, for in spite 
of Clotilde’ s coldness during the last few days, it 
had not destroyed his hopes. And if a “yes” 
dropped from her lips, what unknown delight would 
follow! What perfect happiness! But nothing 
happened as the marquis had anticipated. Search 
as he did in all directions, there was no Mademoi- 
selle Schunberg at the ball. Neither the banker 
nor his daughter made their appearance that night. 
To paint the chagrin of Sanchez would be impos- 
sible. 


240 


THE DEPARTURE 


241 


It was not until two o’clock in the morning that 
he was convinced it was useless to wait any longer, 
and that this night, so long and ardently desired, 
would not advance in any degree, his tender hopes. 

Madame de Lun6ville was present; but Sanchez 
dared not question her. He returned home a 
victim to bitter disappointment, and spent the 
whole night trying to explain what could be the 
cause of Monsieur Schunberg and his daughter’s 
absence. At four o’clock the following day, not 
daring to go to the banker’s, he presented him- 
self at Madame de Lun^ville’s. Several people 
were there when the marquis entered. Recalling 
to his mind that he had formally promised not to 
ask for any intervention on the part of Clotilde’s 
god-mother regarding his love affairs, he forced 
himself to meet her with as much calm indifference 
as he could call to his aid. He came there, not 
to question, but to listen, feeling assured that 
something serious had happened, and that he 
would be sure to hear of it. The entrance of the 
marquis having suspended the conversation for a 
moment, it was soon resumed in an indifferent and 
disjointed manner. 

‘‘Were you at the opera last night 

“No, baroness, replied M. de Vardes, to whom 
the hostess had addressed this question. 


242 


THE DEPARTURE 


“And you?” 

“Nor I either. I stayed here too late. Brandus 
had sent me some new music, and I passed the 
greater part of the evening trying it over.” 

“Ah! why was I not there?” sighed Monsieur de 
Vardes. 

Madame de Lun^ville did not lift the perfumed 
gage thrown down by the foolish author of this 
compliment, but contented herself by acknowledg- 
ing his gallant attack by a kind ^mile. 

“Oh! I,” said in her turn, a tall shrivelled look- 
ing countess with a skin like parchment, “I do not 
like the piano. I did play, at one time, when I 
was a little girl.” 

“She is mistaken, it must have been the harpsi- 
chord,” murmured a young man in the marquis’ 
ear. 

“But I had to give it up; it prevented me from 
keeping my nails long, which spoiled the looks of 
my hands.” 

“A veritable vandalism, madame,” said Monsieur 
de Vardes. 

“Ah! my dear monsieur, you overwhelm me,” 
cried the yellow beauty bashfully. 

Puring this idle chit-chat, Sanchez suffered tor- 


THE DEPARTURE 


243 


He tried to relieve his feelings by crushing the 
glove he had taken off between his clenched hands. 
The baroness was watching him attentively, with- 
out, however, appearing to do so; but she did not 
deceive the marquis. He felt convinced that she 
had some important news to communicate, but 
what could it be.^ 

‘‘The opera is not my favorite place of amuse- 
ment,” went on the meagre countess. “French is 
a frightful language when sung; there is only one 
really melodious and musical tongue, Italian.” 

“Italian!” exclaimed the general, “do not speak 
of it; it is macaroni with sugar. I may listen, but 
I never understand a word these artists from Italy 
say.” 

“That arises, perhaps, from you not being very 
well versed in the language of Tasso and Petrarch, 
general,” judiciously remarked M. de Vardes. 

“What do you say.^” 

“That probably you do not know Italian very 
well,” said the baroness, in order to save the old 
soldier from an imprudent reply. 

“Italian ? I do not know one treacherous word,” 
answered he. 

This confession made M. de Vardes smile, in a, 
superior manner. . 

16E . 


244 


THE DEPARTURE 


I share the countess’ opinion,” said Madame de 
Lun^ville. “I prefer the Italiens to the opera. 
And you, Monsieur le Marquis?” she added turning 
to Sanchez. 

‘‘I confess, Madame la Baroness, I have no pref- 
erence.” 

Clotilde had a box in both theaters, andd’Aviella 
had an equal liking for every place in which he 
met her. 

“Oh! I shall never forgive myself for not secur- 
ing a box this season,” said the countess. “I 
stayed very late in the country, and when I re- 
turned, the}^ were all taken.” 

“That difficulty is removed now, countess; since 
yesterday there has been a box vacant, if not for 
the rest of the season, at last for six weeks or two 
months. The lessee has gone on a long journey.” 

“But would he consent during his absence — ” 

“To sublet it? Most certainly, and if you choose, 
I will secure it for you; he is a friend of mine, the 
banker. Monsieur Schunberg.” 

A thunderbolt falling at Sanchez’s feet could not 
have given him a greater shock than the one he 
received on hearing this news. He turned ghastly 
pale, and after directing at the baroness a look 
which spoke volumes, and no longer able to re- 
strain himself: 


THE DEPARTURE 


245 


“Pardon me, general,” said he, “but I think you 
labor under some error, for I saw Monsieur Schun- 
berg in his box not three days ago; I went there 
to pay my respects to his daughter and neither of 
them said a word about leaving Paris.” 

“Neither did they to me, monsieur, though I 
was, also, their guest that evening. Nevertheless, 
yesterday, M. Schunberg and his daughter left 
Paris. I can answer for it, for I heard the news 
from Durouget himself, who told me this morning ” 

“Then of course you must be right, general.” 

“It is most astonishing, such a beautiful girl, 
and so much sought after as Mademoiselle Schun- 
berg, to run away in the height of the season, it is 
most astonishing!” murmured M. de Vardes. 

“What is.^” demanded the marquis with a hardly 
repressed impatience. 

“This departure, sir. We are not at the date 
when any one thinks of going away, but at the very 
time when every one is anxious, as a rule, to stay. 
Lose two months of the season, balls, fetes, 
theaters, pleasures of every kind — It is most aston- 
ishing.” 

With the exception of Sanchez and the baroness, 
the other persons joined in the chorus led by M. 
de Vardes, declaring that the journey was really 
incomprehensible. 


246 


THE DEPARTURE 


Madame de Luneville tried to explain. 

“I cannot see anything so very extraordinary,’* 
said she. “No doubt, Monsieur Schunberg has 
been obliged to leave Paris unexpectedly on im- 
portant business, which he alone could attend to, 
and my god-daughter’s love for her father is well 
enough known to make it a very easy matter to 
determine why she accompanied him.” 

These words satisfied her visitors, but d’Aviella 
found them insufficient. His anxiety increased. 
Approaching the general, he said, drawing him 
aside: 

“I have funds placed with Monsieur Schunberg, 
and I intended consulting him to-morrow about 
some business which I have on hand, his absence 
leaves me no other alternative but to write. Will 
you be kind enough to tell me where he has gone, 
general 

“As to that, my dear sir, I am in total ignorance.” 

“You did not ask then.^”’ 

“It never occurred to me; and it appears that 
M. Schunberg did not tell any one.” 

While the general was speaking, Sanchez took 
a rapid view of the import this journey of the 
banker and his daughter had for him; he did not 
doubt, for one instant, that Mademoiselle Schun- 


THE DEfARTUEE 


247 


berg had only left Paris in order to avoid being 
under the obligation which she had taken on her- 
self, to give him a definite answer at the Minister’s 
ball. 

At the first symptom of love, is joined that at- 
traction of forbidden fruit, that irresistible tempta- 
tion to which entire humanity yields more or less, 
since Eve, the first sinner. The marquis called his 
pride to his aid, so that not any of those present 
should guess the sorrow raging in his heart, and 
with a face of marble and a voice which he en- 
deavored to render firm: 

“It is strange,’’ he said to the general; “evidently 
Monsieur Schunberg, tired with the rush of busi- 
ness, felt the need of perfect rest for a fev/ weeks 
and the mystery enveloping his sudden flight is 
easily explained. Great financiers are continually 
harassed by a crowd of people who are attracted 
towards gold, as the needle towards the magnet, 
hoping by its mere contact, to carry away a few 
particles, however small.” 

“That is my opinion also, and the only probable 
reason for this journey,” said the general. 

The general returned to his place. During all 
these proceedings, the baroness had secretly kept 
a watch over Sanchez’s movements. The appar- 




248 THE DEPARTURE 

ent calm of the young man did not deceive her. 
Besides, as an intoxicated person will make a 
thousand efforts to preserve his equilibrium, he 
made an effort and from that moment, joined with 
feverish gayety in the conversation, until the other 
visitors, having taken leave of Madame de Lune- 
ville, he found himself alone with Clotilde’s god- 
mother. Monsieur de Vardes was the last to leave 
and scarcely had he disappeared, when throwing 
aside all restraint, Sanchez said: 

“What is the meaning of this departure? Ah! 
madame, I am thoroughly unhappy. Have pity 
and tell me where they have gone? You must 
know. She does not love me then? — Oh! it is 
horrible! — But it does not matter; if this terrible 
supposition proves correct, tell me; I would bear 
anything rather than this cruel suspense which is 
eating into my heart.” 

Madame de Luneville was touched by this great 
love. 

“Don’t allow yourself to despair,” she said. 

“You do not understand then?” interrupted San- 
chez. “She has left without giving me an answer.” 

“I know it.” 

“But where have they gone? Will you not tell 
me ?” 


THE DEPARTURE 


M9 " 

“I do not know!” 

“You also?” said Sanchez doubtingly. 

“I will swear it, if you wish.” 

“Ah! what is to become of me?” 

“Come now, let us sit down and reason calmly. 

If Clotilde had decided to break with you com- 
pletely, what was there to prevent her telling you 
so frankly?” 

“She was afraid I might reproach her.” 

“Monsieur d’Aviella, I am a woman, and I must 
tell you frankly that such a fear rarely has any 
weight with us. Full of abnegation, pity, kind- 
ness, and admiration for the one we love, we are 
coldly cruel to the one we are indifferent to. 
Women divide lovers into two distinct classes; ideals 
and slaves. The first are our masters; we are 
proud to serve them; the second seem to be crea- 
ted simply to endure our caprices. No delicacy of 
feeling is ever wasted on these; plain speaking is 
honor enough for them. In Clotilde’s eyes, you 
, have only sinned by being too importunate a lover.” 

“If she loved me, she would not have fled from 
me in this way.” 

“She has only done so, perhaps, with the pur- 
pose of being able to repay you when she returns.” 

“Your efforts to comfort me are thrown away,- 


THE DEPARTURE 


250 

madame! Ah! she has acted cruelly. Has she 
no heart 

“No heart! Clotilde? That is a strange accusa- 
tion. I assure you she has, and a very kind one.” 

“Why did she not take into consideration the 
terrible grief she causes me, by going away just 
now 

“Monsieur le Marquis, my god-daughter is not an 
ordinary woman. If she should ever say “yes” it 
will be with all her heart and soul, and that word 
has so much importance in her eyes, that she will 
not pronounce it until she finds great happiness in 
saying so. In your place, I would hope so, for 
this departure is only, perhaps, to put you and 
herself to a test. She wishes to ask herself in 
peace and at a distance, if she really loves you.” 

“And find out on her return if I really love her.^^” 
cried the marquis, his eyes brightening at the words. 

“That is it.^” 

“Ah!” said Sanchez, hope arising with him once 
more. “My God, if this be true, I would be the 
happiest man on earth.” 

Then rising he said gayly: 

“Adieu. Adieu, baroness.” 

“Where are you going.^” 

“I am going away also.” 


THE DEPARTURE 2$ I 


‘‘But where?” 

“I do not know, but I must find Clotilde.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


WHERE DUROUGET BECOMES IMPENETRABLE. 

The marquis hastily left Madame de Lun^ville 
without waiting to hear the numerous objections 
she was preparing to offer to his new project. 
When his first enthusiasm had cooled down, San- 
ches found himself at a loss how to act. Without 
the slightest indication as to the course they had 
taken, it was hardly possible to join Monsieur 
Schunberg and his daughter. But love laughs at 
obstacles. A man whose heart is full of this divine 
strength, believes himself capable of Herculean 
tasks. 

After having feared the loss of Clotilde’s heart, 
and dreaded having to renounce all claim to her 
hand forever, the marquis experienced this illusion, 
as soon as he seized the true meaning of Madame 
de Lun6ville’s words. 

“I shall go and join them,” he had declared with 
perfect sincerity; but very soon cold reason ex- 
posed to his view the many obstacles he would 
have to overcome, and he began to consider 
252 


WHERE DUROtJGEt BECOMES IMPENETRABLE 253 

seriously what means to employ in order to dis- 
cover in what direction Clotilde and her father had 
gone. 

On his return home, Sanchez, anxious to be 
alone, did not go to see the marchioness, but shut 
himself up in a room on the ground floor which 
served him as smoking room and library. It was 
a small apartment, carpeted with cardova leather 
of a dark color, with wide stripes of gold and silver. 
Two cabinets almost covered the two largest panels, 
one containing cigars of the choicest brands, the 
other enclosing a collection of French, Spanish and 
Portuguese books. The marquis threw himself in 
a large arm-chair before a fire place in which a 
great log was blazing and then calmly put this 
question to himself: 

“How can I manage to join them.^” 

His hesitation was not of long duration; he re- 
called certain words of the general’s and presum- 
ing that Durouget alone could tell him, he rang 
for Gomez. 

The latter soon appeared. 

“Have they taken the horses out of the carriage.?” 

“Yes, Monsieur le Marquis. Manoel has just 
taken them to the stables.” 

“Well, tell him to put them into the carriage 
again.” 


2 54 WHERE DUROUGET BECOMES IMPENETRABLE 

“Very well, Monsieur le Marquis,’^ the steward 
contented himself with saying, and disappeared. 

“Yes, that is the best thing to be done,’’ said 
Sanchez to himself, when he was once more alone. 

“Not suspecting that I have anything to do with 
Schunberg and his daughter, Durouget will never 
hesitate to reveal their retreat to me. I will say 
to her I divined your thoughts, you fled in order 
to put my heart to a fresh proof, to test it by your 
absence. Here I am, do not doubt me longer, for 
away from you, this tired heart would have soon 
ceased to beat, I would have sought relief in death.” 

An hour later, the marquis knocked at the office 
door of the head cashier of the house of Schun- 
berg & Co., who welcomed him with his usual 
gayety. 

“Ah! how are you, marquis, to what fortunate 
chance do I owe the pleasure of this visit .J”’ 

“I should like to speak to Monsieur Schunberg.” 

“Impossible.” 

“Then what I have heard is true.?” 

“What did you hear.?” 

“That Monsieur Schunberg left Paris yesterday.” 

“Your information was quite correct.” 

“Ah!” said d’Aviella, assuming as well as he 
could a look of extreme annoyance. 


WHERE DUROUGET BECOMES IMPENETRABLE 255 

‘‘But,” continued Durouget, “if it is on business, 
you can address yourself to me. When he left. 
Monsieur Schunberg invested me with full powers 
to act for him, as he always does when obliged to 
leave Paris.” 

“Unfortunately, it is a special affair, altogether 
confidential, which I can only confide to Monsieur 
Schunberg himself. Will he be away for any 
length of time.^” 

“For about six weeks, or perhaps two months. 
If you are in a hurry, why not write to him.^” 

•‘I was thinking of that,” said Sanches, delighted 
at this proposition. “To where must I address my 
letter.?” 

“Here; I will see that it is forwarded without 
delay.” 

“You need not give yourself all this trouble, my 
dear Durouget; it will take up too much of your 
valuable time. Give me Monsieur Scuhnberg’s 
address; that will be the simplest way.” 

“I cannot.” 

“Cannot !” said the marquis feigning astonish- 
ment. “Why.? do you not know it.?” 

“I know it, but on leaving Paris, Monsieur 
Schunberg forbade me to give it to any one what- 


ever. 


256 WHERE DUROUGET BECOMES IMPENETRABLE 

“There are some exceptions though, I suppose?” 

“Not one, my dear marquis, not even in your 
favor.” 

“You are, I am sure, taking his order too liter- 
ally, my dear fellow; be assured that I shall not 
abuse your confidence, and since there is some 
little mystery existing, however unimportant it 
may be, I promise it shall not go any further.” 

“I do not doubt it for a moment; but my in- 
structions are decisive, and I am not in the habit 
of infringing them. If you are in a hurry, here is 
pen and ink; take a seat there; your letter will be 
forwarded this very evening.” 

“Come, my dear Durouget,” said Sanchez, “you 
carry your respect for your chief’s wishes a little 
too far; tell me what I ask. Monsieur Schunberg 
will not blame you, you may be convinced of it.” 

“Spare me the pain of refusing you a second 
time.” 

“I shall not insist any more, then, but I shall 
not write here; I have to refer to some notes which 
I left at home. Nevertheless, as it concerns some 
advice on a matter of importance, I will first go to 
my lawyer’s, perhaps he will be able to do instead 
of Monsieur Schunberg. If his assistance is not 
sufficient, I shall write, and ask you to forward my 
letter.” 


WHERE DUROUGET BECOMES IMPENETRABLE 257 

will go immediately, I promise you. Sorry 
to have had to refuse you, marquis. Good bye.^^ 

“Good bye,” replied Sanchez, who went out 
cursing Durouget’s scruples, and quite at a loss as 
to what his next step was to be. 

At the moment, when out of spirits and discour- 
aged, he was re-entering his hotel, Manoel held out 
a silver tray on which lay a letter. Sanchez took 
it absently and went into the smoking room. An 
instant afterwards his bell rang violently for 
Gomez. The steward quickly entered. 

“We are going away within an hour, Gomez; 
get ready.” 

“Where are we going, sir?” 

“To Italy; lose no time.” 

Manoel had been listening. As soon as he heard 
these words, he left the hotel and hastened to a 
coup^ waiting at the corner of the Rue de I’Uni- 
versite and du Bac. This carriage contained two 
persons, an old man with a red beard and a veiled 
woman. 

“Well?” said the old man to, Manoel. 

“I gave him the letter and he leaves in an hour.” 

“Here is what I promised you,” said the old man 
handing a well filled purse to the negro. 

The carriage drove away. 


258 WHERE DUROUGET BECOMES IMPENETRABLE 

The letter handed by Manoel to Sanchez was 
anonymous, and contained only these words: 
“Clotilde is in Rome.’’ 

The old man was Schiba, the veiled woman the 
unknown whom the old Indian called “mistress.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


SOME INDISPENSABLE EXPLANATIONS. 

Several parts in this story require explanation. 
We are now going to fill up these gaps, so as to 
avoid any appearance of improbability. And, in 
the first place, let us at once proceed to elucidate, 
namely, how the unknown had heard of the pro- 
jected duel between the marquis and George, and 
how she had been able to gather such precise in- 
formation regarding the latter, as enabled her to 
make him the singular offer of purchasing his ad- 
versary’s life. Let us begin at this last point. 

Ever since he came to live in Paris, all Sanchez’s 
movements had been watched; Madame Firmin, 
without being directly commissioned to act the spy 
on the young Brazilian, was an invaluable aid to 
those whom Schiba had charged never to allow the 
marquis out of their sight. Clotilde’s governess 
had been gained over by the old man as soon as 
the marquis, by his frequent visits to the house, had 
shown what a powerful interest attracted him 
259 


17E 


26 o 


SOME INDISPENSABLE EXPLANATIONS 


there. The spies of the unknown soon discovered 
that they were not the only ones who were inter- 
ested in the movements of the marquis, and George 
de Maurange’s valet put them on his master’s 
traces. And now, all the unknovv'n’s attention 
was centered, for the moment, on de Maurange^ 
She left for Poitiers, found the lawyer employed 
by the de Maurange family, spoke in vague terms 
of a marriage, and under this pretext, obtained all 
the information desired. 

The de Maurange property had been the last 
which George had sold. The lawyer told this 
to his strange visitor. George placed a great 
value on this patrimonial estate, which the new 
proprietor had again put up for sale. George had 
been informed of this, but had not made any offer 
for the property. The details given by Clotilde to 
Madame Firmin, about the disposition of her ad- 
mirer, and repeated by the governess to the inter- 
ested parties, enabled them to thoroughly analyse 
the young man’s conduct, certain, as they very 
soon were, that the question of money could not 
be a matter of indifference in the love he professed 
for Mademoiselle Schunberg. They resolved to 
make him their principal auxiliary in the plot they 
were hatching against the marquis, and only waited 


SOME INDISPENSABLE EXPLANATIONS 


261 


for a favorable opportunity to assure themselves of 
the entire co-operation of Sanchez’s rival. 

The marquis’ quarrel with George secured this. 
The scene which took place in Madame de Lune- 
ville’s boudoir when the marquis and George 
arranged to provoke a quarrel at the club, had been 
overheard. If de Maurange, on leaving the room, 
had turned round, he would have seen a curtain put 
aside and an individual appear, known in the Pa- 
risian salons as ‘‘Sir William Perkins,” a very 
wealthy old Englishman, it was commonly reported. 
Sir William Perkins was none other than Schiba. 
No one, however, in the Englishman’s features, 
could have recognized the old khansaman. Well 
dressed, his white hair hidden under a light red 
wig, and disguising by the aid of an ingenious dye, 
his silver beard, he completed his transformation 
by using a wash which whitened his skin, and 
added a bright red tint to his cheeks. Thus dis- 
guised, he had the appearance of a harmless old 
fellow of fifty. 

No one knew exactly how he had gained admit- 
tance into Parisian salons, and no one, to tell the 
truth, took the trouble to enquire. The foreigner 
indulged in a certain amount of luxury, very reas- 
suring to the people with whom he came in contact. 


262 


SOME INDISPENSABLE EXPLANATIONS 


At times, he was to be seen in the Bois in a per- 
fectly appointed brougham; it did not require more 
to satisfy the curious, and he. passed in a general 
way, for a wealthy merchant who had made his 
fortune in India. 

On the morning of the day of the banker’s de- 
parture, Madame Firinin drove to the villa at 
Neuilly. The mistress of the house was expecting 
her visit, a note from the governess, posted on the 
previous evening, having prepared her for it. 

“We leave to-morrow. I do not yet know where 
we are going, but in the morning, I shall find out, 
and see you about noon.’^ 

In order to keep this promise, the worthy gov- 
erness was more than usually submissive and sweet 
in her manner to Clotilde the next morning. 

“You see,’^ said the young girl, “I have gained 
my cause. My father has consented, and we are 
going away to-day. Ah! I am so happy. 

“I understand how you must feel, mademoiselle.’’ 

“Well then, pack up quickly. Charlotte must 
help me to dress. How delightful it is to travel ! 
To run away from Paris with its rain and fogs to a 
country with a brilliant sunshine and a pure sky.” 

“Where can we be going to, then.^”’ 

“Why to Italy, Madame Firming’ 


SOME INDISPENSABLE EXPLANATIONS 263 

“To Venice?’’ 

“Better than that, to Rome. I have been read- 
ing. “Corinne” all night. I can imagine myself in 
the Forum or at Saint Peter’s, the most imposing 
building in the world, according to Madame de 
Stael.” 

“But are you not sorry for the suffering this de- 
parture will cause some one?” the companion ven- 
tured to observe. 

“Ah! that is just like my father. You are sorry 
for the marquis?” 

“If he really loves you, mademoiselle, it will 
break his heart.” 

“If he loves me, yes; but also, all the more joy 
when I return.” 

“It is not then to get rid of him, that you have 
determined on this tripi”’ 

“Ah! how incapable you are of reading my 
heart.” 

“I do not understand.” 

“Yet it is simple enough! If the marquis really 
loves me, he will not forget me before my return; 
that is all I wish to know.” 

“And then—” 

“How inquisitive you are. Yet I do not mind 
telling you; then I shall think him worthy of my 
trust.” 


264 SOME INDISPENSABLE EXPLANATIONS 

‘‘And you will say yes?^’ 

“Without hesitation — But time is passing; go, 
go and get ready, dear madame.” 

Possessed of all necessary information, the gov- 
erness obeyed with alacrity. She soon completed 
her preparations and hurried off to Neuilly. 

“Where are you going to?” demanded the un- 
known, who had been anxiously waiting for her. 

“To Rome, madame.” 

“And you leave? 

“This evening.” 

“Then mademoiselle does not love the marquis?” 

“Yes, she does; his cause is gained if he wishes 
it.” 

“What must he do to gain it, do you think?” 

“Not forget his ladylove during her absence.” 

“He will do what is even better.” 

“What may that be?” 

“Excuse me!” said the young woman haughtily, 
“do you question me?” 

Madame Firmin bent her head by way of apol- 
ogy. The wealthy unknown placed her hand on 
the silver bell and rung it. Schiba appeared. 

“Hand a thousand francs to madame,” said his 
mistress. 

“Oh! it is too much, madame!” the governess 


SOME INDISPENSABLE EXPLANATIONS 265 

objected, as a slight salve to her conscience. 

“No, no, and it is only on account,^’ continued 
the young woman, “for I expect you to keep me 
well informed of all that takes place diiring this 
absence.” 

“Madame knows my devotion and zeal.” 

“Yes, but it is desirable to stimulate them, how- 
ever satisfactory they may have been so fan” 

“I promise to merit your confidence.” 

“I count upon it; you can leave me now.” 

Madame Firmin obeyed, followed by Schiba, 
who returned a few minutes later. 

“She loves him!” explained the young woman as 
the khansaman re-appeared. “She loves him, 
Schiba! We are sure of our vengeance. This 
departure is merely to put him to the test; but 
I am weary of waiting, and mean to hasten matters. 
Clotilde and her father leave this evening for 
Italy; the marquis must follow them. In a month 
they will be married, and in six months, our task 
will be ended.” 

“May the spirit of Boxio aid us!” said the old 
Indian, “and may Vishna inspire us!” 

“This sudden departure will plunge that accursed 
one in the greatest anxiety; it must not last more 
than twenty-four hours. An anonymous letter 


266 


SOME INDISPENSABLE EXPLANATIONS 


will tell him everything, and he will hasten to join 
Clotilde/’ 

‘‘We are going to make him very happy, mis- 
tress.’^ 

“Yes, but only to make him suffer more after- 
wards.” 

“That is true,” said Schiba. 

“You will write a little note, telling him where 
Clotilde is, and post it to-night.” 

“You forget, mistress, that we have some one to 
win over to our side at the d’Aviella hotel.” 

“You are right. You mean that negro Manoel.J’” 

“Yes. I will manage that. To-morrow.” 

“I leave everything to you then.” 

The following afternoon, about three o’clock, 
Schiba and the unknown seated themselves in a 
coupe. The khansaman had again become the 
wealthy and eccentric Englishman. Their carriage 
entered the Grande Avenue which leads from the 
Pont de Neuilly to the Place de la Concorde; on 
arriving there it crossed the bridge, then the Rue 
de Bourgoyne, and stopped at the corner of the 
Rue du Bac. 

Sir William Perkins descended and calling a 
commissioner, gave him an order in a marked 
English accent to go to the hotel d’Aviella, ask 


SOME INDISPENSABLE EXPLANATIONS 26/ 

for the negro Manoel and tell him that some one 
wished to speak to him. 

A quarter of an hour afterwards, the marquis’ 
groom arrived. Sir William had reseated himself 
in the carriage. 

“There he is, mistress,” said he. 

“Go, go, Schiba. I do not wish him to see me.” 

The pretended Englishman descended and ad- 
vanced a few steps to meet the negro. 

“I wish to send this letter to your master,” he 
said. 

Manoel looked at the foreigner, and satisfied 
with the appearance of apparent wealth, replied: 

“That will be easy.” 

“Very well. You seem an intelligent fellow, or 
I am very much mistaken.” 

“I do my best,” said Manoel modestly, in whom, 
since his conversatipn with Charles, the spirit of 
intrigue had suddenly developed. 

“Listen then.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“The marquis must not know who gave you this 
letter.” 

“Very well, sir.” 

“And more, you must manage to let me know 
what effect it produces on him. If you succeed, 
this purse is yours.” 


268 


SOME INDISPENSABLE EXPLANATIONS 


Manoel scented the gold which was held out to 
him, as a hunting dog scents a trail. 

‘‘You will be satisfied, my lord,” said he, “I 
promise you.” 

“And now, Schiba, what is the next thing to be 
done?” demanded the young woman. 

“Wait, mistress.” 

“Will you see Manoel again? Have you asked 
him to meet you?” 

“We can always find him, mistress; for the 
moment, he can be of no use to us; but to judge 
from the manner in which he has acquitted himself 
of this first commission, I will answer for his capa-- 
bilities in the future. Let us return home and 
devote our attention to the wounded man. 

The unknown agreed to this, and half an hour 
later, she and Schiba entered the room where 
George de Maurange was still a prisoner in bed. 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE PURSUIT. 

Isaac had requested his correspondent at Rome 
to choose a suitable house for him. 

On their arrival they found that a delightful villa 
had been secured near Albano, on the banks of 
Lake Nemi. Six days after leaving Paris they 
reached their destination. Clotilde was enchanted 
with the journey. She had been as gay and happy 
as a child, her surprise and delight far exceeding 
anything she had anticipated. 

But what gave her most pleasure, was the ap- 
pearance of this new dwelling. 

Imagine a house situated on the slope of a hill, 
open to the refreshing breezes on the north side, 
sheltered on the south by large olive trees. Steps 
of white marble led to a large hall paved with in- 
genious taste in mosaic and marble. Large, bright, 
sunshiny rooms filled up the two upper landings; 
all furnished not only with an eye to appearance, 
but replete with every luxury and comfort. 

269 


270 


THE PURSUIT 


Surrounding this inviting retreat, was a large 
garden, through which flowed two limpid, silvery 
streams. To complete this entrancing picture, a 
sanded walk, bordered on each side by lilacs and 
rose bushes led to a grove of beech trees, under 
which a bench and rustic seats invited the visitor 
to repose and gentle talk. Lower down, lay the 
calm lake, and in the distance, the imposing Cam- 
pagna of Rome, bristling with secular ruins, which 
seemed, when the moon alone lighted up the hori- 
zon, like giant phantoms of the past. 

Clotilde visited all with eager curiosity and 
delight, and an always increasing admiration. The 
charm and grandeur reigning around, gave her the 
opportunity she so desired of questioning her heart 
at leisure. 

Like a veritable despot, she chose her bedroom 
and the one which henceforth must serve as a bou- 
doir, her solitary corner for reflection in the garden, 
and as usual, all her plans met with the complete 
approval of her father. 

The banker’s correspondent had accompanied 
father and daughter when they went to take pos- 
session. His name was Baron Pazzi. 

“Are you satisfied, mademoiselle?” he said to 
Clotilde when showing her and her father over the 
villa. 


THE PURSUIT 


271 


‘‘I am perfectly enchanted, Baron Pazzi. I could 
not have dreamed of anything to surpass this/^ 

am delighted you are pleased; for I confess I 
was afraid that the loneliness of this place would 
not suit your Parisian tastes. 

“It is just this isolation which charms me. I 
am in favor of extremes. Here, I will really feel 
myself far away from France; forget the cold and 
the snow of Paris; the balls, theaters, in fact, the 
whole monotonous round of our fashionable, 
worldly existence, and taste the most poetical and 
complete calm that can be imagined. Thank you 
a tiiousand times, Baron Pazzi.’^ 

“I hope, however, you do not intend leading a 
strictly retired life.?” 

“No, indeed; accustomed as he is to an ex 
tremely active life, my father would find it difficult 
to condemn himself to such solitude. Reassure 
yourself. We are ambitious to see Rome, your 
patrician society, which inspires me for my part, 
with intense interest; but all that will not prevent 
us from thoroughly appreciating the quiet and 
repose of this delightful spot.” 

“Do you share mademoiselle’s opinion, mon- 
sieur.?” 

“Completely, my dear baron.” 


2/2 


THE PURSUIT 


“Thank you, my dear father,’^ said Clotilde, 
comprehending on the instant all the affectionate 
delicacy of feeling contained in this answer. 

While this conversation was taking place in the 
garden, Madame Firmin was superintending the re- 
moval of the luggage to the villa, and busied in 
trying to render it conveniently habitable. When 
the baron had left them, Isaac broke the seal of a 
letter which he had found waiting for him at Rome. 
It was from Durouget. Without knowing pre- 
cisely all that had passed between Mademoiselle 
Schunberg and the Marquis d’Aviella, Durouget 
had some notion of it after what his chief had con- 
fided to him on leaving. 

“I leave for Rome, my dear Lucien,’’ he said. 
“Clotilde insists on it, and you know I am too 
fond of her to deny her anything.” 

“I know, Monsieur Schunberg, that you are the 
most indulgent father in the world.” 

“Listen now, my dear fellow, “I am going to 
trust you in a matter which might be extremely 
serious were you different from what you are, but 
I know I can count upon you as on myself.” 

“You will never have reason to doubt that, I 
think.” 

“As you are doubtless aware, I have no business 
that requires my presence in Rome?” 


THE PURSUIT 


273 


“Yes, and I have vainly tried to explain to my- 
self the cause of this journey,’^ 

“I am merely yielding to my daughter’s wishes. 
She wishes it, for reasons known to myself and 
difficult to explain, but I do not wish any one to 
know where we have gone. I shall be absent six 
weeks or perhaps two months. You alone are to 
be entrusted with our address.” 

“I shall be careful to attend to your wishes in 
that respect.” 

“We understand each other perfectly, then.^” 

“Perfectly.” 

“As soon as we arrive, I shall forward our ad- 
dress. Keep me informed about every detail, for 
you know I have a mania for knowing the outs and 
ins of everything. Apart from this, act for me as 
you think best, you will always do well, and I 
have the greatest confidence in your ability; but 
once more, let no one know of our retreat, you un- 
derstand, Lucien, it is Clotilde’s desire.” 

On receiving, the day following this conversa- 
tion, the marquis’ visit, Durouget, who was no fool, 
concluded that Sanchez was not ignorant of the 
resolution adopted by Isaac and his daughter, so 
his letter, after giving some details of the business, 
ended by giving a full account of the attempt made 


274 


THE PURSUIT 


by d’Aviella to discover Monsieur Schunberg’s 
address. 

‘‘Ah!” said Isaac, as he read the letter, “he has 
not wasted much time.” 

Who are you alluding to, father asked Clotilde. 

“To your marquis. Here, read for yourself.” 

The girl took the letter and read it with an in- 
terest she did not attempt to conceal. 

“I hope he wa§ sufficiently eager!” said the 
banker; “believe me, Clotilde, this young man 
loves you sincerely, and very soon you will be a 
marchioness.” 

“You judge of others by yourself, dear father. 
We shall see whether this wonderful ardor on the 
part of Monsieur d’Aviella is more than a sudden 
flash.” 

“Then your remain implacable.?” 

“No, but my resolution is unalterable.” 

“It saddens you, however, I have noticed that 
much.” 

“What could have led you to suppose such a 
thing.?” 

“The profound reveries you fell into, in spite of 
the pleasure you seemed to take in this trip. 
During our drive here, I noticed it, and left you to 
the indulgence of your long spells of silence. I 


THE PURSUIT 


275 


watched you and your thoughts were far away, 
Clotilde, that is to say, in Paris, with the Marquis 
d^Aviella.” 

“Well, it is true, father; but is not this senti- 
ment quite naturar\J^ 

“So natural, my child, that far from blaming 
you it fills my heart with happiness/’ 

The father and daughter continued their conver- 
sation for some time and then separated. The 
next day, at day break, Madame Firmin went to 
Rome. She had a letter to post addressed to Sir 
W. Perkins, and also to ask at the office for one 
she expected from the mysterious companion of 
the pretended Englishman. 

Madame Firmin, so as not to fail in her engage- 
ment with the unknown to furnish her with infor- 
nation, had related at length the different events 
relative to this journey, as well as their installa- 
tion at Lake Nemi, adding fragments of conversa- 
tion she had overheard between Schunberg and his 
daughter. When she arrived at the Paste Restante 
the employ^ handed her a letter. It announced 
the approaching arrival of the Marquis d’Aviella at 
Rome, and ordered her to write to the Englishman 
as soon as Sanchez had joined Clotilde, and to 
keep them informed of the consequences following 

I8B 


2/6 


THE PURSUIT 


his appearance. The governess reopened her 
letter, and reiterated in a postscript, protestations 
of her entire devotion, and then returned to the 
villa. 

Nothing particular happened on the second day 
Schunberg and his daughter passed in Italy. 
Clotilde congratulated herself on having carried 
her plans into execution. She was pleased with 
the test she had imposed on the marquis, and 
although not avowing it completely, even to her- 
self, in her heart she never doubted for an instant, 
but that Sanchez would come out victorious. 

The evident happiness of the young girl, ren- 
dered Isaac radiant. Then the rest he enjoyed 
offered a double charm to him, in relieving him 
from the worry of business, and permitting him to 
consecrate himself exclusively to Clotilde. Baron 
Pazzi came to ask them to drive over with him to 
his palace, and the day passed in a delightful man- 
ner for all. 

From that day, Schunberg and his daughter con- 
cluded that their voluntary exile would prove a suc- 
cess. They made an engagement to meet the baron 
on the following day. One hour before the time 
appointed, Schunberg entered his daughter’s room, 
and asked her to go down to the salon. 


THE PURSUIT 


277 


“The person we expected has arrived, come with 
me, my child,” he said to her. 

“Already! So much the better,” replied Clotilde 
gayly, descending quickly to the salon, but instead 
of finding the Baron Pazzi, as she expected, she 
could hardly restrain a cry when she saw Sanchez 
standing before her. 

“You, Monsieur le Marquis!” 

D’Aviella was very pale; his features betrayed 
the emotion he felt. 

“Yes,” said he after an instant’s pause; “it is I, 
who driven almost mad at your sudden flight, I 
who will die at your feet,” he added kneeling down, 
“if you will not be my wife.” 

The noble, earnest manner of Sanchez, appealed 
to Clotilde’s heart. A glance at her father showed 
her that he was ready to espouse the marquis* 
cause. 

“Have pity and answer me,” Sanchez continued, 
“I have your father’s consent, are you still going 
to keep me waiting for yours.?” 

“No, I love you,** said Clotilde frankly and sin- 
cerely. 

“Ah! thank God! and you, who make me happy 
forever by saying so,** cried Sanchez standing up, 
“dear Clotilde.** 


278 THE PURSUIT 

And seizing the young girl’s hand, he kissed it 
ardently. ’ ? 

“She is yours,” said the banker, “embrace her, 

I permit it.” 

Then trembling with happiness, his heart over- 
flowing with joy, Sanchez embraced his betrothed 
for the first time. When their first strong emo- 
tion had passed away, Isaac continued: 

“This happiness you spoke of a moment ago, 
must be your work. Monsieur le Marquis. It is an 
angel I am giving you, for she is as good as she is 
beautiful.” 

“I know it; and it is not only love I feel for her, 
Monsieur Schunberg, but adoration.” 

Before this scene a decisive explanation had 
taken place between the marquis and Isaac. As 
soon as Sanchez had become acquainted with Clo- 
tilde’s place of retreat, he resolved to join her and 
immediately conceived a plan which he promptly 
put into execution. He told everything to the 
marchioness, his mother, and asked her to write to 
Monsieur Schunberg formally demanding his 
daughter’s hand. That over, he found out Durou- 
get, from whom he got a letter of credit for ten 
thousand francs, made payable at all the towns 
where Schunberg had correspondents. ^ As soon as 


Me pursuit 


^79 

he arrive^d in Rome, he went to Baron Pa^zi, and 
through him, got Isaac’s address. 

A few hours later, Sanchez arrived at the villa 
of Lake Nemi. 

Received by Madame Firmin, who had been on 
the lookout for him, he asked her to inform Mon- 
sieur Schunberg of his arrival. The governess im- 
mediately carried the marquis’ card to the banker, 
who, on seeing it, could not repress a movement 
of joyful surprise. 

“He!’^ murmured the old man. “He loves her 
even more than I thought.’^ 

“My presence here must surprise you. Monsieur 
Schunberg.^” d’Aviella said, “but I will explain in 
a very few words. I love your daughter, and 
come here expressly to ask you for her hand in 
marriage.” 

“1 know everything. Monsieur le Marquis; you 
have done well to come. But how did you dis- 
cover our retreat.?” 

“Permit me to defer that recital until later, Mon- 
sieur Schunberg; for the moment, a much graver 
subject occupies my thoughts to such an extent, 
that I shall be grateful if you will allow me to in- 
troduce it at once. Here is a letter from my 
mother; she will confirm and reiterate to you the 


28 o 


THE PURSUIT 


demand I have just had the honor to address to 
you.” 

Isaac took the letter that the marquis held out 
to him; but without reading it, replied: 

“My dear marquis, I feel honored by the demand 
your mother and you have just addressed to me. 
For my part, I welcome the idea with pleasure, 
and will be happy and proud to call you my son.” 

“But Mademoiselle Clotilde?” 

“I will go to her; she will answer for herself.” 

Isaac left the room as he said these words and 
we have seen how Clotilde surpassed all the bright- 
est hopes d’Aviella had cherished. From that 
moment, Clotilde felt all her indefinable appre- 
hensions disappear as if by magic, and abandoned 
herself completely to the sentiment that she had 
fought against until then by banishing from her 
mind the remembrance of George’s warning. 

Sanchez installed himself at the Baron Pazzi’s, 
to whom Schunberg introduced him as his future 
son-in-law, and after having passed a happy fort- 
night at Rome, the banker, d’Aviella and Clotilde 
returned to Paris, to make preparations for the 
marriage of the two young people. Madame Fir- 
min had written everything to Sir William Perkins, 
and when she left Rome with her employers, felt 


THE Pursuit 


2S1 

persuaded that a large recompense awaited her at 
Neuilly. 


j». r)i{ 


CHAPTER XVL 

A SLAP IN THE FACE. 

Very soon after Schunber^’s return, the ap- 
proaching marriage of the marquis to his daughter 
was not a secret for any one. He announced it 
formally during a brilliant entertainment given for 
the occasion. This news, without producing any 
great astonishment in the fashionable wqrld, caused 
a great deal of interest. 

The Marquis d’Aviella’s position, Clotilde’s 
beauty and fortune, justified this feeling. Eight 
days before the one fixed for the celebration, 
Madame de Luneville invited all the fashionable 
world of Paris to a masked balL This fete was 
given for the future bride and bridegroom by Clo- 
tilde’s god-mother. The preparations for the ball 
brought into request all that Paris contained that 
was illustrious and elegant. The leading dress- 
makers had to double the number of their assistants 
for several days. In order to add to the piquancy 
of the occasion, the invitation cards bore the re- 
282 • 


A SLAP IN THE FACE 


283 


quest that the maskers would retain their disguise 
until three o’clock in the morning. Every one ap- 
plauded the idea, which would naturally lead to 
endless intrigues, and promised to contribute great 
animation to this aristocratic reunion. 

At eleven o’clock, on the date indicated, the 
vast salons of the hotel de Luneville began to fill. 
A supplementary room had been constructed in 
the garden. It was iii moorish style, variegated 
with brilliant tints, the effect being heightened by 
clumps of tropic plants. Three large salons gave 
access to this vast room where the waxed floor was 
waiting for the dancers. A profusion of large 
mirrors covered all that had not been invaded by 
ornaments, and the orchestra concealed behind the 
heavy foliage filled the air with inviting strains. 

Madame de Lundville wore the costume of a 
sultana. In her quality of hostess she did not wear 
any disguise, but a mask of purple silk was em- 
broidered on the sleeve of her dress. Sanchez 
arrived with Schunberg and his daughter. The 
marquis wore a Henri III costume of somber hue 
which become him admirably and added to the 
noble yet rather romantic character of his appear- 
ance. Clotilde had chosen to appear as the “Mar- 
guerite’’ of ^Goethe. Never had she looked more 


284 A SLAP IN THE FACE 

radiantly beautiful. The simplicity of her costume 
showed to advantage all the charms of her girlish 
beauty, making men envious of the happiness in 
store for Sanchez. Schunberg contented himself 
with wearing a Venetian domino. Durouget 
strutted about as Punchinello in silk embroidered 
with silver. D’Artheville, dressed as Scapier re- 
plied to his merry quips, with great success. 

They both came up to Sanchez, whom they had 
not seen since the official announcement of his 
approaching marriage with Mademoiselle Schun- 
berg and took this opportunity of congratulating 
him warmly. 

D’Aviella thanked them with effusion. He felt 
his heart overflowing with happiness, and never 
wearied of watching his beautiful betrothed. 
Clotilde, also happy, was proud of her lover’s hap- 
piness. Sanchez could not bear to leave her. 
She had to exert all the authority of a passionately 
loved woman, in order that her future husband 
should consent to dance with any other than her- 
self, and permit her to accept a few of the invita- 
tions which overwhelmed her on all sides. Yet 
d’Aviella did not feel jealous. Since the disap- 
pearance of de Maurange this terrible feeling had 
not entered into his heart. He had unlimited faith 


A SLAP IN THE FACE 


285 


in Clotilde, but withal he thirsted for her presence. 
In spite of this, he yielded to his finance’s desire, 
left her to her partner and mingled with the groups 
of maskers in the salons. 

Among these were a rather odd looking couple 
who never left each other one minute. They were 
a man and woman, both masked with more than 
ordinary care, as if, above all things, they were 
anxious to avoid recognition. The woman, who 
appeared young and beautiful, to judge from her 
abundant black hair and ivory teeth, wore the 
costume of a magician, composed of a long, black 
velvet robe, studded with stars of gold and bordered 
with cabalistic signs of different colors. The head- 
dress was still more enriched by diamonds of great 
value. She wore white gloves also adorned with 
cabalistic signs similar to those on her robe. The 
man who accompanied her was dressed as a Sepoy 
chief, with a dagger on one side of his belt, and a 
short sword on the other. A mask, with a long 
beard descending to his breast, completely con- 
cealed his face and natural beard. These two 
mysterious masks walked about a long time as if in 
Search of some one, and at last came to a stop be- 
fore Clotilde, whose last partner had just recon- 
ducted her to her place near Madame de Lun^ville, 
when the man said in a low voice: 


286 


A SLAP IN THE FACE 


“There she is, look!” 

“How beautiful she is!” said the young woman; 
then, as in explanation of her thoughts, she said: 

“Poor child !” 

“What! you pity her?” 

“But just look at her, she is an angel!” 

“You admire her? That is still a step further 
than pity!” murmured the man, never raising his 
voice. “Do you mean to draw back?” 

“No. But let us find some other means.” 

“Ah! that is how you forget your oath.” 

“Hush! for mercy’s sake.” 

“No. I must not. What did you swear to the 
master?” 

“Don’t recall it; the sight of this young and 
innocent girl makes my heart ache.” 

“What did you swear?” 

“You are cruel!” 

“I watch over and give you courage.” 

“I shall have enough, never fear; I will keep 
my oath.” 

“Let us find the other; the sight of him will 
chase away your last scruples.” ^ 

During this time, Sanchez was talking to Schun- 
berg and the Marchioness d’Aviella, in the little 
boudoir where he had provoked a quarrel with 
George de Maurahge a month before. 


A SLAP IN THE FACE 28/ 

“You are bestowing a treasure on him, Monsieur 
Schunberg,” said Madame d’Aviella. 

“And I give it to him without fear,*^ replied the 
banker smiling. 

“Ah! monsieur,” said Sanchez gratefully. 

“Call me father, if you choose, since in a very 
few days you will be my son, Sanchez.” 

“With all my heart, father,” replied the marquis 
pressing the banker’s hand affectionately. “Ah! 
I owe my whole happiness in life to you.” 

“Yet it seems to me, Sanchez, that Clotilde will 
count for something in your felicity,” replied the 
banker. 

“I will pass my life at her feet to repay her for 
it. Ah! let me open my heart to you both, for 
before her, I dare not display the strength of my 
feeling; I am afraid of startling her; for my real 
life only began the day you gave her to me in 
Rome. It seems to me as if that had only hap- 
pened yesterday, the hours have fled so quickly, 
and yet I have experienced such joy and happiness 
since that happy moment, that it seems to me as 
if I had lived two lives since then.” 

“Control yourself, Sanchez,” interrupted the 
marchioness smiling benevolently. 

; “Let him speak, madame,” said Schunberg, “his 


288 


A SLAP IN THE FACE 


words are pledges in favor of Clotilde’s happiness.” 

This conversation would have lasted some time 
yet, had not Sanchez been seized with a longing 
desire to exchange one word with Clotilde. She 
had promised to waltz with him and the first 
strains of this so much desired waltz would soon 
be heard. 

“I must leave you now, mother,” he said. 

“Where are you going, Sanchez.^” 

“To be near her; this is my dance.” 

A few minutes later, the dance began. Scarcely 
had the opening bars been played by the orchestra, 
when Sanchez was at Clotilde's side. She wel- 
comed him with a smile which rewarded him a 
thousand times for his long wait. 

“At last!” said Sanchez. 

The waltz is the dance which suits all tender 
and impassioned hearts best. The music of this 
particular one was dreamy and inspiring and its 
exquisite melody was fitted to awaken the softest 
illusions and most alluring hopes. Clotilde and 
Sanchez, yielding themselves to its enchanting 
strains, waltzed past the circle of dancers, and 
isolated in the midst of the crowd, forgetful of all 
but themselves; were only conscious of the de- 
light of being together, never for one moment, sup- 


A SLAP IN THE FACE 289 

posing that they were the objects of searching 
examination to others. 

Yet two persons never ceased watching them. 
These were the magician and her companion. A 
slight tremble of the woman’s arm had warned the 
latter that she had just perceived the marquis. 

“Where is he.?” demanded the Sepoy in a low 
voice. 

“There, there, right before us!” 

And darting a flaming glance at Sanchez, she 
glared at him with a look of terrible hatred. 

“Well! said the Sepoy, after a moment’s ex- 
pressive silence, “do you still hesitate.? Has the 
sight of that wretch’s unalloyed happiness not the 
power to revive your wavering hatred .?” 

“Oh! yes, you are right. Never for six years 
have I been so near him. He is happy, very 
happy; my vengeance will only be the more com- 
plete. But when shall we strike the blow.?” 

“Patience! the moment approaches. See how 
he seems to shelter her under his gaze; with what 
respectful passion he holds her in his arms; the 
day we strike, he will go raving mad!” 

“But she,” said once more the magician. 

“Her! you ought to hate her also, since he loves 
her.” 


290 


A SLAP IN THE FACE 


“Your plan is a hellish one, Schiba.” 

“It was thus that the master wished to revenge 
himself on Sir Edgar, had we been able to find 
him. We must be without pity for our enemies.’^ 

“They have stopped,” said the magician still 
watching Sanchez. 

Just then another dancer came up to Clotilde 
and offered her his arm. 

She accepted it, and left her fiance. 

“Leave me!” said the unknown to Schiba. 

“What are you going to do.^” 

“See him a little closer just for one moment. I 
will rejoin you.” 

Saying these words, the magician took her hand 
away from the old Indian’s arm, and placed her- 
self in Sanchez’s way. The glance she directed 
at him surprised the marquis, who read so much 
concentrated anger and hatred in the e3^es gazing 
at him from behind this black mask. He stopped 
in sudden bewilderment and stood rooted to the 
ground as if fascinated. He then conceived a 
desire to know who this woman could be who dared 
to look at him in this way, but the quadrille form- 
ing at this moment, he was prevented from follow- 
ing her, and when the dance was finished, she had 
disappeared. 


A SLAP IN THE FACE 


291 


The Marchioness d’Aviella joined Sanchez, and 
feeling fatigued, begged he would take her to her 
carriage. He accompanied her to the entrance 
hall and seated her in her Victoria. 

At the instant, as he was turning round to 
remount the steps leading to the house, another 
carriage passed, and a glove, held by a small 
strong hand, slapped him on the face. The mar- 
quis gave a cry of rage, and tried to follow the 
carriage, but it had disappeared. Then Sanchez 
returned to the steps, picked up the glove and could 
not repress a slight shiver on recognizing it as one 
of those worn by the magician. This awkward 
incident made him feel gloomy the rest of the 
night. In vain, he questioned several persons 
about the woman who had insulted him, and only 
regained a little of his ordinary calm when he 
rejoined Clotilde. 

Eight days afterwards, the church of the Cite 
d' Antin was crowded. The marriage of the mar- 
quis with Mademoiselle Schunberg had just been 
celebrated. As they walked out together they ex- 
cited general admiration. At the corner of the 
Rue de Provence, a closed carriage was stationed. 
One of the windows was lowered at the moment 
the newly married couple regained their equipage 
19e; 


292 


A SLAP IN THE FACE 


awaiting them within a few steps distance, and a 
pale face looked out for a second. It was George 
de Maurange. With him, were Schiba and the 
unknown. 

“You see, said the latter to George, “I spoke the 
truth; she is his wife. Now will you join us.^’^ 
“From this moment, I am yours, body and soul. 
What is it you want, madame?’^ 

“I seek for vengeance!’’ said the unknown. 

“And I, fortune 1” reflected George. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


TWO TURTLE-DOVES. 

Immediately after their marriage the marquis 
and his wife left for Italy, returning to the villa at 
Lake Nemi which recalled to both the happiest 
moments of their existence. We shall not follow 
them there. They were devoted to each other, 
and during all the time of their absence, which 
was prolonged to the month of June, not one cloud 
darkened the sunlight of their existence. When 
the moment arrived to return to France, Sanchez 
disdained the attractions of well known sea-side 
resorts, and wrote to his mother begging that she 
would purchase a little chateau for him not too 
near Paris, where he might pass the summer with 
his wife. Madame d’Aviella charged her notary 
to look out for what her son required. 

“You have just come at the proper moment, 
madame,” answered the man of business, “for one 
of my brother lawyers has recently informed me 
of a charming property for sale.’^ 

293 


294 


TWO TURTLE-DOVES 


“Where is it situated?” 

“Near Amboise, not far from La Frili^re. 

“Is it habitable in its present state?” 

“Yes, madame; it is ready for immediate occu- 
pancy.” 

“Then, Monsieur Foucault, you must do me a 
favor.” 

“What may that be, madame?” 

“Start for Ambois this very evening, and if this 
property seems to answer our views, buy it for me. 
I give you full power.” 

“You honor me very highly by this proof of con- 
fidence, madame, and I shall try to merit it.” 

That same evening. Monsieur Foucault left Paris, 
and the next day reached his friend Dupuy’s house. 
Very soon the latter’s gig was harnessed and the 
two lawyers drove over to the chateau which was 
for sale. Foucault was enchanted with the 
property. 

“It is a veritable nest,” said he to Dupuys; “and 
exactly suits the two turtle-doves, for whom my 
client, the marchioness, is buying it.” 

“A newly married couple?” 

“Yes, the marchioness’ son, who married Made- 
moiselle Schunberg, the wealthy banker’s daugh- 
ter.” 


two TURTLE-DOVES 


295 


They soon agreed as to price. Foucault com- 
missioned his son to furnish the house with as 
much taste as possible, but with no exaggerated 
luxury, and the same evening, satisfied that 
Dupuys would fulfill his part of the agreement 
with taste and tact, he returned to Paris. 

Madame d’Aviella was enchanted with the de- 
scription the lawyer gave of the chateau. She 
wrote to Sanchez that a country house had been 
discovered, and that she would be ready to receive 
him and her daughter-in-law there in about three 
weeks. Then, accompanied b}^ Gomez, she went 
herself to Amboise, not wishing to leave to any one 
else the responsibility of adding the finishing 
touches to her children’s new home. With Dupuy’s 
aid, the marchioness and the steward finished their 
arrangements in a few days. 

A letter from Rome arrived for Madame d’Aviella 
in Touraine. It was even more explicit than the 
preceding ones with relation to the great happiness 
that Sanchez promised himself, when alone with 
his wife, far from Paris, and safe from unwelcome 
intruders. This letter gave rise to a fresh scruple 
and one of extreme delicacy in the marchioness’ 
mind. 

Comprehending that however great her son’s 


296 


TWO TURTLE-DOVES 


affection for her might be, her presence would be 
an intrusion on the young married couple, she gave 
up the idea of residing with them, and leaving 
Gomez at the chateau to await their arrival, re- 
turned to Paris, the evening before the day on 
which Sanchez arrived there with his wife. This 
return was hailed by all with delight. Isaac 
awaited his daughter at the hotel d’Aviella. When 
Clotilde appeared, he held out his arms to her, and 
the young marchioness threw herself into them and 
embraced him lovingly. 

“My dear child,” said the banker in an agitated 
voice, “you love your old father as much as ever.?” 

“Oh! father, how can you ask such a thing!” 
Madame d’ Aviella embraced Sanchez affectionately. 

“You are very happy then.?” she said to him. 

“The happiest man on earth, mother; only look 
at her,” he replied, pointing to Clotilde. 

In truth, the youthful wife had increased in 
beauty. Love in touching her with his sword, had 
given a more decided character to her loveliness, 
which her absolute happiness also added to. 
Every feature breathed contentment, and her eyes 
shone with new brilliancy. 

“Remain in Paris! no indeed. Monsieur Schun- 
berg,” said » Sanchez. “We mean to leave for 
Amboise to-morrow.” 


Two TURTLE-DOVES 


297 


“What! so soon?” 

“You must come and see us there, father,” said 
Clotilde affectionately. 

“Selfish child!” replied Schunberg looking at her 
affectionately. Then turning to the marchioness 
he added — “We may as well resign ourselves, 
madame.” 

“But Madame d’Aviella is going to accompany 
us to Touraine,” said Clotilde. 

“No, my child,” said the marchioness. 

“And why not, may I ask?” interrupted Sanchez. 

“I shall join you there later.” 

The marquis made a movement of regret, but 
did not insist. The prospect of renewing at Am- 
boise his tete-a-tete existence with his wife, caused 
him a secret joy which overcame any regrets he 
naturally felt at this second separation from his 
mother. 

Madame Firmin left with them, after having 
passed the greater part of the day at Neuilly. 

The unknown and Schiba, having been informed 
of the spy’s arrival, as well as Clotilde’s and the 
marquis’, were waiting impatiently for her. She 
arrived at the villa in the afternoon, and was im- 
mediately ushered into their presence. 

“I am quite satisfied with what you have done, 


298 TWO TURTLE-DOVES 

said the unknown to her, “here is your recom- 
pense.” 

Saying these words, she held out to Madame 
Firmin a small, but well filled pocket-book. The 
spy would have attempted some delicate protesta- 
tion, but Schiba did not give her time. 

“Take it,” said he, “and tell us, step by step, 
how everything happened.” 

The recital did not take much time. The life of 
the marquis and marchioness had been one of un- 
broken happiness, and Madame Firmin, however 
great be her desire to enlarge on this theme, soon 
exhausted it. 

“And now, will they remain in Paris.?” demanded 
the unknown. 

“No, the Marchioness d’ A viella, his mother, has 
bought a small chateau in the neighborhood of 
Amboise. The steward. Monsieur Gomez, is there 
now, and we are to leave. Monsieur Sanchez, 
Mademoiselle Clotilde and I, this evening.” 

“That is well, do not neglect to write us from 
there, as you did from Rome.” 

“I promise you 1 will, madame.” 

“Mistress,” said Schiba, when they were once 
more alone, “we will adt soon.” 

Some hours later, Schunberg and the Marchion- 


TWO TURTLE-DOVES 


299 


ess d’Aviella found themselves alone at the Orleans 
railway station, where they had accompanied 
Sanchez and Clotilde. 

“We are without children now, marchioness,” 
said Isaac to Madame d’Aviella. 

“Yes, but they are so happy, they will owe us 
life>long gratitude for only remembering their com- 
mon joy, even to the detriment of our own personal 
gratification.” 

“For the last twenty years, I have lived for Clo- 
tilde alone, marchioness.” 

“You are not the one to be most pitied. Mon- 
sieur Schunberg; you have your business to distract 
your thoughts; but as forme, what have I to make 
me forget Yet, I do not complain.” 

During this time, Sanchez and Clotilde in a re- 
served carriage of the train, revelled in numerous 
projects, and made a thousand plans for their 
future life in the home which as yet, was unknown 
to them. Having full confidence in the exquisite 
taste of his mother, Sanchez had promised all sorts 
of marvels in advance. 

Another less agreeable tete-a-tete, contrasting 
strongly with that of Clotilde and her husband, 
was taking place in the carriage next to theirs. 
Madame Firrnin and Magnet, Clotilde’s favorite. 


300 TWO TURTLE-DOVES 

were at war. The intelligent little animal, who 
was separated from his mistress much against his 
will, had never entertained any very strong feeling 
of friendship for the governess. Madame Firmin 
had a horror of all dogs. In spite of his pretty, 
coaxing ways. Magnet had never found grace in her 
eyes. 

Magnet was traveling by rail for the first time; 
before long he began to tremble with terror at the 
noise of the train, and in spite of his antipathy to 
Madame Firrnin, the little thing took refuge, with 
lowered ears, under her dress. He entered this re- 
treat so quietly that the governess did not perceive 
it for some time, but suddenly awakening from a 
reverie in which she had been calculating once 
more what her espionage would secure for her in 
the future, she made a quick movement, touching 
Magnet with her foot, who, in sudden alarm, fled 
to the other side of the carriage, barking with all 
his might. 

‘‘Will you be quiet, you hateful little beast!” 
cried Madame Firmin accompanying this command 
with a blow of her parasol vigorously applied on 
the little creature’s spine. His howls redoubled; 
then a wild struggle ensued. Madame Firmin, 
fearing that Clotilde, in spite of the noise of the 


TWO TURTLE-DOVES 


301 


locomotive, might hear her little pet complain, 
tried to catch him; but Magnet leaped from seat 
to seat, then on to the ground only to spring up 
again on the cushions, escaping her only to bark 
again with renewed fury. 

This extraordinary scuffle in such a confined 
space lasted several minutes, at the end of which 
time, Madame Firmin, breathless, her forehead 
bathed in perspiration, dropped helpless and ex- 
hausted on one of the seats. Magnet then took 
refuge in the darkest corner he could find, keeping 
a watchful eye on the governess, until their arrival 
at Tours. 

When Clotilde took him on her knees in the 
carriage, Magnet had not yet regained his serenity 
and in spite of the engaging smiles directed at him 
by Madame Firmin, who occupied the fourth place 
in the carriage, apostrophising him as, ^^my pet,” 
he darted looks of vindictive eloquence at her. 

They arrived. 

Gomez, hat in hand, waited respectfully at the 
gate of the chateau. During the drive Monsieur 
Dupuys had called Clotilde's attention to the 
beauties of the neighborhood they were going to 
live in The little chateau realized their most ex- 
traordinary hopes. Madame Firmin alone seemed 


302 


TWO TURTLE-DOVES 


discontented. She had, in vain, tried to discover 
her room. One alone, besides those set apart for 
the use of the marquis and marchioness, was to be 
seen, and Gomez had already installed himself 
there. 

“What are you looking for, Madame Firmin.^^” 
“My room, Madame la Marquise.” 

“Naturally,” said Clotilde, “poor Madame 
Firmin! where can her room be.^” 

“Above the coach-house at the far end of the 
garden, madame,” replied Gomez, in a tone which 
a.dmitted of no other observation from the com- 
panion, “and if Madame la Marquise and madame,” 
added he, addressing himself to the spy, “will do 
me the honor of following, I will show it to them.” 
“Let us go with Gomez,” said Sanchez. 

They descended the steps of the front entrance 
and walked towards the out houses situated behind 
some thick clumps of trees which completely hid 
them from view. The building before which the 
party arrived, was composed of a ground floor con- 
taining the coach-house and stalls, v/here twelve 
horses and five or six carriages could be easily ac- 
commodated. A steep staircase at the left side of 
the building led to the first landing, where half a 
dozen rooms opened out of a wide passage which 


TWO TURULE-DOVES 


303 


ran the whole length of the building. Those im- 
mediately above the coach-house had been set aside 
for Madame Firmin’s use. 

“This is charming,” said Clotilde. “What do 
you think of it, Madame Firmin.^” 

“Charming indeed, madame, I shall be quite 
comfortable here; only I shall be rather lonely.” 

“You need not be anxious on that point 
madame,” interrupted the steward. “Manoel, who 
will be here in a few days with the horses, will 
occupy the two rooms next this, above the stalls. 
Now, if monsieur and madame will conie down 
again. Monsieur Dupuys and I will show them the 
yard and kennels.” 

“Hunter! You think of everything,” said San- 
chez smiling. “Come, let us go.” 

They descended, and going round the building, 
came to a spacious yard, with a hen coop and 
pond intended for duck. 

A small low building was situated at the far end 
of the yard. These were the kennels, where 
Gomez promised himself the pleasure of housing 
the hounds worthy of his sporting tastes. As they 
passed by the door, it was suddenly burst open 
and an enormous bull-dog rushed at Madame 
Firmin with a fearful yelk 


304 


TWO TURTLE-DOVES 


“Ah! my God!” she cried rushing off in terror. 

But Gomez’s voice immediately calmed the ex- 
cited animal. 

“Down, Demonio, down,” he cried in a voice of 
authority. “Don’t be afraid, Madame la Marquise,” 
he added, “Demonio, in spite of his aggressive 
looks is a faithful dog, and gentle as a lamb; he 
has never bitten any one.” 

As a proof of these reassuring words, the bull- 
dog, who seemed to understand them, allowed him- 
self to be caressed, and on a sign from his master, 
licked Clotilde’s hand. Magnet, whom she carried 
in her arms, did not display any jealousy; he wel- 
comed Demonio like a comrade, as if to thank him 
for avenging the blows the governess had inflicted 
on him at different times. 

The visit to the chateau lasted some time yet, 
to the great satisfaction of the new owners, from 
whom Monsieur Dupuys, as he went homewards, 
carried most grateful thanks. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


A REPRESENTATION FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE POOR. 

Several months passed rapidly, for the Marquis 
and Marchioness d’Aviella. Keeping strictly to 
the programme they had mapped out for them- 
selves, they avoided becoming intimate with any 
of the country families, and enjoyed with unalloyed 
delight their stay in this charming retreat. Each 
day seemed to add to their mutual love, and the 
hours glided along rapidly. They were, oblivious 
of Paris and the entire world, living only for each 
other. Sanchez allowed himself to be gently lulled 
into a calm dream of happiness which effaced even 
the remembrance of the mysterious insult offered 
to him on the evening of the masked ball. Gomez 
busied himself between the garden, the kennels, 
and his never failing pipe. The greatest pleasure 
he experienced was wandering about the country 
with his faithful Demonio. Manoel devoted him- 
self to the care of the six horses which had been 
brought from Paris. Madame Firmin, carrying 
305 


3o6 for the benefit of the poor 

on her infamous role of spy with a truly angelic 
placidity, kept up a regular correspondence with 
the pseudo Englishman. 

Just about this time, after the receipt of a letter 
from the companion stating that the love of the 
marquis for his beautiful wife had apparently 
reached its height. Sir William requested her not 
to write any more for the present, adding that she 
would hear from him very soon. This rather dis- 
appointed the companion, as she dreaded the effect 
this order might have on her future prospects; but 
she was reassured on again reading the letter, and 
consecrated the spare time she was in the habit of 
devoting to her secret correspondence, to assisting 
the gardener in taking care of the little greenhouse 
belonging to the chateau. This was an object of 
particular solicitude to Sanchez. Everything 
seemed to promise a prolongation of happiness and 
calm for the inhabitants of the little chateau, 
when an incident, trifling in appearance, was the 
precursor of the awful tragedy unfolded in this 
history. 

One morning the marquis received a visit from 
the Count de Pardieux, the proprietor of a country 
seat two leagues from Vauvroy. In addition to 
being president of the tribunal of Tours, the count 


FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE POOR 


307 


had an immense fortune which enhanced the im- 
portance of his position. 

Monsieur de Pardieux was a man of about fifty- 
five years of age, tall, thin, and very distinguished 
looking. After saluting d’Aviella, and without 
giving him time to demand the object of his visit, 
he said to him: 

“Pardon me. Monsieur le Marquis, for forcing 
myself into your house without having first had 
the honor of acquainting you with the object of 
my visit.” 

“I shall be delighted to hear to what I owe the 
pleasure of your visit.” 

“The poor people of Vouvroy are in great trouble 
just now, and my wife has conceived the idea of 
coming to their aid by giving, in our park, a 
dramatic representation to which we are now beg- 
ging all the surrounding aristocracy to lend their 
support.” 

“It is a most excellent idea, indeed, monsieur, 
and I am sure I can congratulate Madame de Par- 
dieux in advance on the success of her idea.” 

“Then, Monsieur le Marquis, may we hope that 
you and Madame d’Aviella will honor us by being 
among the spectators. The tickets are five louis ; 
it is, of course, a geat deal to pay for the doubtful 
m 


3o8 for the benefit of the poor 

pleasure of seeing amateurs act, but it is for the 
poor.” 

“The idea is a most laudable one, Monsieur le 
Comte, please put down the Marchioness d’Aviella 
for ten tickets, but I beg you will excuse us from 
being present at the fete. The marchioness and I 
never visit anywhere.” 

“Permit me to hope, Monsieur le Marquis, that 
you and Madame d’Aviella will make an exception 
in our favor.” 

The following afternoon a victoria drove up to 
the door of the chateau, and an elegantly dressed 
young woman descended. A moment later, the 
servant announced the Countess de Pardieux. 
Aware of what had passed the previous day between 
her husband and the count, the marchioness guessed 
the reason of this charitable countess' visit, and 
mentally resolved to resist as steadfastly as San- 
chez had done; but the strongest resolutions often 
yield to the instantaneous sympathy with which 
certain persons inspire us, and everything happened 
in opposition to Madame d’Aviella’s desires. 

“I have called with your tickets, madame,” said 
the countess taking out a little pocket-book, “and 
if I have lost no time in doing so, it is because I 
have made up my mind to overcome the resolution 


FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE POOR 


309 


Monsieur d’Aviella expressed to my husband 
yesterday/^ 

Clotilde tried to raise a few objections, but 
Madame de Pardieux did not allow her to continue. 

She was a very fascinating woman of about 
thirty years of age, but only fifteen in gayety of 
heart. Her amiable features, prepossessed one in 
her favor at once. She expressed herself in a soft, 
caressing voice calculated to conquer and captivate. 

“I am determined that you shall come,^’ she 
said, addressing Clotilde with a bewitching smile, 
“for I am to take part in the play myself, and if you 
do not come, I shall imagine that it is because you 
are afraid I will act too badly.” 

This phrase demanded a compliment; Clotilde 
replied: 

“I see, Madame la Comtesse, that I ought to 
yield, did I not know that the words you have just 
uttered were the confession of exaggerated 
modesty.” 

“You insist upon refusing then.^^” 

“I beg you will excuse us upon this occasion.” 

“No, no, Madame la Marquise; and since I can- 
not accept mercy from you, pray ask Monsieur 
d’Aviella to come here, we will see whether he will 
also resist me, since it is to be war between us, I 


310 


FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE POOR 


warn you that I shall flirt desperately with the 
marquis.” 

And as if in support of this threat, pronounced 
in the gayest possible tone, Madame de Pardieux 
rearranged her bonnet before the mirror. 

“I tremble already, Madame la Comtesse,” said 
the marchioness smiling; “no, I do not wish for 
war, and the proof is, that I will call my husband, 
in order to see if I can coax him to grant your 
request.” 

“Ah! that is very delightful of you.” 

As she spoke, the marchioness rang the bell. 

Madame Firmin entered. 

“Please ask Monsieur d’Aviella to come here for 
a moment,” said Clotilde to her. 

When the companion had withdrawn to execute 
this order, the countess continued: 

“Thank you, once more, Madame la Marquis; 
you have given me a great pleasure, for to confess 
the truth, I had a bet on this. Ah! now your 
curiosity is awakened; I will explain. My carriage 
has sometimes crossed yours, on the Amboise road.” 

“Very likely, in fact, I have a vague recollection 
of it.” 

“You could not have remarked it; another per- 
son who always accompanied you captivated your 


FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE POOR, 3II 

entire attention. Don't blush at your happiness! 
To love her husband, is the ideal ambition of a 
good woman. Then, I was not the only one who 
noticed your devotion to each other. Those who 
sent you invitations in vain, have tried to discover 
the reason of your persistent refusals; and they 
have found it in your affection. Do you know 
what they have named you.^^ The wolves! In- 
dignant at these criticisms, I determined to put 
an end to them, by betting with Madame de 
Chambrul6 that I would overcome your determi- 
nation to live so isolated. My dramatic represen- 
tation was a superb occasion. You surely cannot 
refuse me !’^ 

“I shall certainly be present, Madame la Com- 
tesse, if only for the gratification of applauding you.” 

“You are as good as you are beautiful, dear 
madame, and that is saying a great deal, believe 
me.” 

Sanchez entered, and Clotilde explained to him 
what had passed, and told him what she had 
promised. 

“I hope I am not going to meet with any opposi- 
tion from you. Monsieur le Marquis,” said the 
countess, when Clotilde had ceased speaking, “and 
that you will ratify what Madame la Marquise has 
been good enough to promise.” 


312 FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE POOR 

“The countess having given her promise, I am 
happy to add mine to it.’* 

The countess thanked them both, and drove 
home, delighted with her success. Sanchez and 
Clotilde watched the carriage as it disappeared 
down the slope of the avenue. 

“Thanks,” said the young wife throwing her arms 
round his neck, “you were very good to consent so 
readily.” 

“And will you be glad to go to this fete.?” 

“Since you are to accompany me, yes, most 
certainly.” 

“Then it will give me pleasure too.” 

In spite of this confession, a secret presentiment 
interfered with the marquis' anticipations of 
pleasure. 

“This is an end to our repose,” he reflected. 
“We were so happy all alone!” 

Nothing happened, however, to justify his gloomy 
forebodings. The representation proved most suc- 
cessful; Madame de Pardieux obtained a veritable 
triumph as an actress, which was only equalled by 
Clotilde *s beauty. 

The young marchioness won the admiration of 
all, and a suppressed murmur of admiration passed 
through the audience, as she took her seat in all 
the glory of her fresh young beauty. This verita- 


FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE POOR 3 I 3 

ble triumph delighted Sanchez. Far from awaken- 
ing any feeling of jealousy in his heart, this passion 
which drove him mad, the supremacy which 
Clotilde attained over all the other guests, doubled 
his happiness in possessing her, by making him 
realize her full value. 

He acknowledged that he was undoubtedly the 
happiest man on earth, and thanked God who had 
allowed him this full measure of bliss. He men- 
tally resolved that he would no longer repel the 
advances of his neighbor, and Clotilde, who had 
enjoyed herself immensely, applauded this deter- 
mination. 

The Marquis and Marchioness d'Aviella left the 
count’s country seat at rather a late hour, and 
during the drive home mutually confessed to each 
other how thoroughly they had enjoyed the enter- 
tainment. At the moment when their chateau 
was being lighted up in preparation for their return, 
three post-chaises, each drawn by four grey horses, 
passed them on the high road at the foot of the 
hill. A hand coming out of one of the carriage 
windows pointed out the marquis’ chateau, and 
Schiba, under the disguise of Sir William Perkins, 
said to the unknown and George de Maurange, who 
were seated together opposite to him: 

“There is the abode of the accursed one!” 


CHAPTER XIX. 


THE THIRD ACCOMPLICE. 

When the marquis and his young wife left Paris 
for Touraine, Schiba and the unknown, as well as 
de Maurange, entered into a new compact. A 
complete calm had succeeded to the excitement of 
their lives; but before describing this period of 
waiting, it is indispensable we should return to the 
events which had led George determining to be- 
come the accomplice of the old Indian and his 
companion. 

My readers have not forgotten the terrible scene 
in consequence of which the Marquis d'Aviella’s 
late adversary would have indubitably succumbed, 
if one of the unknown’s slaves had not undertaken, 
for a thousand rupees, to suck the wound. After 
this tragic incident, George had fallen into a state 
of torpor which lasted several days, and which the 
old khansaman, for the sufferer’s sake, prolonged 
on several occasions. He came out of this as one 
does from a dream, painful at the commencement, 
314 


THE THIRD ACCOMPLICE 315 

but of which the joyous ending obliterates the 
horror of the first moments. 

As soon as he was able to walk a few steps in 
the garden, supported either by Schiba or the un- 
known, his one thought was how he could sufficiently 
thank them for their constant, watchful nursing 
and care. Yet, gradually, his memory returned 
and he began a discussion on serious matters by 
declaring to the unknown that he must leave 
Neuilly that very day, in order to dispute Clotilde’s 
hand with the marquis. 

“You are, of course, free to do as you choose. 
Monsieur de Maurange,’^ she said; “I have no wish 
to detain you.” 

“Thank you, madame; I will leave your house 
this evening, but will never forget that I owe my 
life to you.” 

“I am not the one you must thank,” replied the 
unknown, “it is he.” 

She pointed to Schiba, who entered at that 
moment. 

“He!” repeated George, “ah! yes, I remember 
now. It seems to me I have had glimpses of him 
many times bending over my bedside, administer- 
ing some cooling draught. You are a doctor then, 
Schiba.?” 


3i6 the third accomplice 

“Yes, Sahib,’’ replied the old man; “I cure the 
hearts as well as the bodies of those who suffer.” 

The serious manner in which these words were 
pronounced impressed George. 

“Hearts also.*”’ he said. 

“Yes,” continued the old Indian, “hearts also, 
and to attain that end, I employ means analogous 
to those which serve me for their perishable cov- 
ering. I can sound them and discover the cause 
of their sufferings. Here we have three invalids; 
myself, for I am wounded here,” (and he pointed 
to his heart) “for more than forty years. My mis- 
tress has borne for several years, a dark, crushing 
grief, but the same blow will save us both. Your 
moral ailment is less terrible than ours, but it is 
not the less painful on that account. You think 
of leaving us, may I ask what are your future 
plans.?” 

“I shall try to regain the ground my long illness 
has probably made me lose in the one enterprise 
which concerns my happiness and in which I mean 
to succeed.” 

“Too late! I know to what you are alluding.” 

George looked reproachfully at the unknown. 

“I have no secrets from Schiba,” she said, “for 
I know he is silent as the grave.” 


THE THIRD ACCOMPLICE 


317 


“Yes, too late,” repeated the old Indian. “Since 
you were carried here wounded, in a dying state, 
Monsieur le Marquis has gained ground; his love 
is returned, he is accepted by Monsieur Schun- 
berg, and before a month is over, will be his son- 
in-law.” 

On hearing this news, which Madame Firmin 
had just sent from Rome, de Maurange fell back 
in an armchair, overcome with emotion. The 
unknown and Schiba waited in silence for some 
moments, out of respect for their guest’s feelings. 

George’s face expressed more discouragement 
than grief. An expressive smile from Schiba called 
his mistress’ attention to it. 

“Let us throw aside our masks,” he said, “our 
cause is a common one, and we cannot ensure suc- 
cess unless we deal quite frankly with each other. 
Listen to me, then. Monsieur de Maurange, and 
let there be no false delicacy. If Mademoiselle 
Schunberg marries the marquis, you will be left 
with only the hundred thousand francs you received 
as the price of your wound. Don’t try to defend 
yourself. I began by saying: Let us throw aside 
our masks; let yours drop and ours will quickly 
follow. You regret Mademoiselle Schunberg’s 
fortune, which is very natural, for there are few 


3i8 


THE THIRD ACCOMPLICE 


such fortunes as hers. The man who has carried 
away this prize, is our common enemy, the Mar- 
quis d’Aviella. Well! do you wish to be revenged 
on him.J^” 

“Take revenge on the marquis 

“On your successful rival, on the man who nearly 
killed you, and has ruined your prospects,” inter- 
rupted the unknown. 

“Yes, I wish it; but how, since you prevented 
me killing him?” 

“Ah! that was our affair,” said Schiba, and such 
a glare of hatred blazed in his eyes, that a look of 
hesitation passed over George’s features. 

“He has robbed you of the one whom you looked 
upon as your betrothed only a few months ago, 
he has cruelly wounded you and ruined your future. 
Why do you hesitate? Accept my offer; join 
your cause to ours, swear to second us in all our 
efforts against him, even to the peril of your own 
life, and before another year takes flight, you will 
be a millionaire.” 

“Swear,” said the unknown in her turn, “and 
Schiba has just declared, before another year has 
passed, I will make you as wealthy as if you had 
been victorious over your enemy.” 

George looked as he felt, incredulous. 


THE THIRD ACCOMPLICE 


319 


“You doubt it? — Schiba, hand me my casket, so 
that I may prove we are not making empty 
promises.” 

The khansaman pressed a button hidden in the 
wall of the little boudoir and disclosed a secret 
cupboard from^ which the old Indian took an 
ebony casket bound with steel clasps and further 
secured by a microscopical lock. The unknown 
drew from a little sachet she wore concealed in 
her corsage a gold key of exquisite workmanship 
and unlocking the casket placed it open before the 
young man, saying: 

“There is enough to make the fortune of a king, 
Monsieur de Maurange.” 

George was dazzled. The casket was filled 
with diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires, opals, 
and pearls of enormous size, of remarkable purity 
and inestimable value. 

“There is enough to pay you ten times the 
amount I offer.” 

“You are right,” said de Maurange in an agitated 
voice. 

And keeping his eyes fastened on the tempting 
casket he added: 

“And supposing I accept, what sum will you 
give me?’^ 


320 


THE THIRD ACCOMPLICE 


“Three million; will that satisfy you?” 

“Three millions? — ^Yes, yes — And when shall I 
get them ?” 

“The day on which the Marquis d’Aviella dies,” 
said Schiba. 

“A second duel?” demanded George. 

“No,” said the unknown. 

“A murder then?” exclaimed de Maurange, 
“you want me to murder him?” 

“That would be worse than a crime, it would be 
a blunder,” replied the unknown. “No, Monsieur 
de Maurange, we do not wish that; you have 
neither duel nor quarrel with Monsieur d’Aviella; 
his blood will not be shed either by you or us; but 
he must die, a terrible, frightful death; and by 
the soul of him whose loss I mourn, I swear to you 
he dies doubly guilty.” 

“By the souls of Boxio andNahoua, he will die!” 
repeated Schiba. 

George listened to his two confipanions with a 
feeling almost approaching to terror, and compre- 
hending only that nothing would induce them to 
renounce their project. The unknown had become 
animated while she spoke, and the fire of a terri- 
ble and implacable hatred blazed in her eyes, 
Schiba, on the contrary, remained calm and 


THH THIRD ACCOMPLICE 


321 


solemn, offering a marked contrast to his mistress, 
yet not the less expressive of an immovable reso- 
lution. 

The offer of the three millions tempted de Mau- 
range to the last degree; feeling that he might 
never again have an opportunity of penetrating 
the mystery surrounding his two companions, he 
suddenly said: 

“Give me an account of your lives, and I will 
join you.” 

“That we will never do,” said Schiba. 

“But you know mine,” said de Maurange, una- 
ble to give any better reason for justifying the 
intense curiosity he longed to satisfy. 

“We had to know it; but what does our past 
matter to you.” 

“I suppose you are right,” said de Maurange, 
after a moment’s reflection. 

“You accept them. ^ Well! you must swear!” 

“One thing more: What proof have I that the 
marquis is going to marry Mademoiselle Schun- 
berg?” 

“Here it is,” said Schiba, giving him Madame 
Firmin’s letter. 

“That seems enough,” said George after reading 
it. “Well! I swear I will second you in every- 
thing if the mwiage is accomplished.’’ 


322 


THE THIRD ACCOMPLICE 


‘‘And I, on my part, swear to give you what I 
have promised as soon as our desire is accom- 
plished,” said the unknown. 

From the moment this agreement was entered 
into, of which de Maurange did not yet compre- 
hend all the importance, he conscientiously obeyed 
all the wishes of the unknown and Schiba, So far, 
they were very simple. The day of the Marquis 
d*Aviella's marriage to Clotilde, they all went in 
a carriage, as we know, to see the newly married 
couple leave the church. This was the only time 
de Maurange left the villa where the unknown had 
given it to be understood he must never leave, so 
as to avoid attracting attention. Things were 
going on in this way, when Madame Firmin’ s last 
letter from Touraine informed Schiba that San- 
chez’s happiness was beyond limit and that he 
idolized Clotilde. 

“The moment has arrived to strike, mistress,” 
said Schiba to the unknown, “I shall leave this 
evening.” 

That evening. Sir William Perkins left Paris. 

When George asked the unknown for what pur- 
pose he was taking this journey: 

“We shall rejoin him very soon,” was her only 
answer, 


THE THIRD ACCOMPLICE 


323 


Shortly after Schiba’s departure, the unknown 
announced to de Maurange that they would leave 
for Amboise the following morning. Three post- 
chaises conveyed George, the unknown, and the 
bahis. Sir William awaited them at Amboise; 
when they arrived there, he took his seat in the 
carriage with the young woman and de Maurange; 
the first words he said were: 

“Everything is ready, mistress, and I have news.’’ 

After having passed the little chateau where 
Sanchez and Clotilde lived, and which he pointed 
out to his companions, Schiba ordered the coach- 
man to drive by another road which led them 
beyond la Frilli^re. After driving in this direction 
for about a quarter of an hour, the carriage stopped 
before a lonely house, in which not a single light 
could be discerned. Schiba opened the door, and 
requested George to enter, the unknown and her 
suite following. What most struck de Maurange 
when he penetrated into this melancholy looking 
abode were the precautions taken to double all the 
shutters in such a way that no light could be seen 
from without. There was nothing extraordinary 
about this spacious habitation, which was situated 
in the middle of a large garden surrounded on all 
sides by a high wall. 

21B 


324 


THE THIRD ACCOMPLICE 


When the attendants retired, with the exception 
of two who remained to serve the repast, the 
three accomplices sat down at the table. 

“And now, Schiba, tell us all you know,” said 
the unknown. 

The khansaman began in these terms: 

“No one can suspect our presence in this place. 
The lawyer at Amboise, from whom I bought 
this property looks on me as a misanthropic 
Englishman who prefers a solitary life. Madame 
Firmin will report to us every day. I saw her to- 
day, during the absence of the marquis and his 
wife. Heaven is on our side, mistress, for yield- 
ing to the pressing invitation of one of their neigh- 
bors the marquis and his wife went to an entertain- 
ment to-day. This has altogether modified my 
plan.” 

“Ah! what are you going to do?” 

“You shall hear, mistress. You are quite deter- 
mined to second us. Monsieur de Maurange?” 

“You have my word. More than ever I am on 
your side.” 

“Then, do you know the Count de Pardieux, 
president of the tribunal at Tours?” 

“He is my cousin.” 

“Brahma is helping us,” said the old man. 


THE THIRD ACCOMPLICE 


325 


“To-morrow you must pay him a visit, so as to 
renew your acquaintance.” 

“And then?” 

“I will tell you later.” 

There was no more said that evening; but when 
George had retired to his room: 

“Mistress! Mistress!” cried the old Indian, “let 
us thank Brahma; very soon we shall attain our 
end.” 


CHAPTER XX. 


THE ANONYMOUS LETTERS. 

Intimate relations were soon established be- 
tween the Count and Countess de Pardieux and the 
Marquis and Marchioness d’Aviella. The distance 
separating the two chateaus rendered the acquaint- 
ance still more agreeable, by keeping it within 
proper bounds. Nevertheless, the president and 
his wife passed several days at the little chateau, 
and Sanches and Clotilde were frequent guests of 
the count and countess. Each time that Clotilde 
saw Madame de Pardieux, she felt herself more 
attracted towards her, and the mutual sympathy 
they experienced increased. On his side, the mar- 
quis found in the serious, though very amiable- 
minded president, a communion of ideas which 
made his society most acceptable. 

A bal champetre was organized by the countess, 
and Sanchez and Clotilde were among the first in- 
vited. This time they accepted readily. A tent 
was erected on the lawn which lay on one side of 
326 


THE ANONYMOUS LETTERS 


327 


the Pardieux chateau. Planks were laid on the 
grass to accommodate the dancers, and when the 
orchestra played the opening chords, more than 
a hundred guests had taken their places under this 
artistic shelter. Sanchez and Clotilde were among 
the first arrivals. Suddenly, when all the dancers 
were arranging themselves for a waltz, the mar- 
chioness saw her husband’s eyes turn persistently 
towards the Countess de Pardieux, who was talking 
to a young man. Clotilde recognized George de 
Maurange. His duel with Sanchez having remained 
a secret, his appearance awoke only a very 
moderate degree of surprise in the young wife’s 
mind. But d’Aviella could not repress a gesture 
of anger, which was not noticed by anyone, except, 
perhaps, George, who while conversing with his 
hostess, watched each movement of his old rival. 
When the countess left him to join the dancers, 
de Maurange went up to the marquis, and bowing 
to him with a courteous smile. 

“ Have you done as I have. Monsieur le Marquis ?” 
he asked him. 

“I do not understand you, monsieur,^’ replied 
Sanchez in a frigid tone. 

“Have you forgotten the past? For my part, I 
confess that I do not retain any remembrance of it 


328 THE ANONYMOUS LETTERS 

and that in pardoning all your success, I come to 
you without hate or anger. We cannot be friends, 

I acknowledge, but we can, I think, meet each 
other on neutral ground, as we do now, without 
any fear of reviving our past quarrel. Do you 
agree with me.^^” 

The perfect courtesy with which this was said, 
left Sanchez no escape. 

“Let it be between us as yo‘u desire, monsieur. 
I, for my part, have nothing to forgive,” he said 
moving away. 

In spite of this answer, George’s presence caused 
serious annoyance to the marquis; yet his old 
rival’s conduct displayed such thoughtful tact, 
that in the end Sanchez’s uneasiness completely 
vanished. George de Maurange, in the most 
natural manner, avoided being one instant alone 
with Clotilde. Nevertheless, the marquis’ return 
drive was not as gay as usual, and for the first 
time a feeling of constraint reigned between hus- 
band and wife. 

Not for the world would Sanchez have spoken to 
Clotilde of George, and on her side, neither could 
she confide to him the reflections which the pres- 
ence of her old admirer gave rise to in her mind. 
From that day, the fetes followed each other in 


THE ANONYMOUS LETTERS 


329 


quick succession at the Count de Pardieux’s 
chateau. Summer was drawing to a close and the 
countess, wishing to profit by the last fine days of 
the season, gave her friends little time for repose. 
Geoige was indispensible at the chateau. No one 
equalled him in the art of varying the entertain- 
ments and organizing them in a proper manner. 

This round of pleasures was the means of bring- 
ing him into constant intercourse with Sanchez 
and Clotilde, and the marquis, strong in his love 
and the esteem in which he held his wife, no longer 
took umbrage at his presence. 

The worldliness which George professed in 
several conversations in which Sanchez took part, 
impressed him with the belief that what had 
charmed George in Clotilde was her large fortune, 
and that having lost all hope on this point, he had 
ended by placing her among the ranks of those 
women to whom a man may be perfectly courteous, 
but also completely indifferent. The marquis and 
marchioness were in this way gradually led, to 
renew their past relations with George. Clotilde, 
who more than Sanchez, was able to appreciate 
de Maurange’s well bred reserve, allowed herself 
to be deceived, and treated him as she did others 
whom she met at the house of the Countess de 
Pardieux. 


330 


THE ANONYMOUS LETTERS 


By acting in this way, de Maurange, as the 
readers will doubtless have guessed, only followed 
the instructions given him by Schiba and the un- 
known. Without being fully aware of their plan, 
he knew that he was acting in an inimical manner 
towards Sanchez, and the sight of Clotilde, so 
beautiful and contented in her husband’s love, 
without awakening the burning fever he had been 
a prey to during a few hours in the villa at Neuilly 
at the time his mysterious hostess had burned the 
anonymous letter he had confided to Chamblay for 
Madame Firmin, made him even more conscientious 
in the execution of the orders he had sworn to 
obey. 

Invitations were issued for a farewell fete to be 
given by the Contess de Pardieux. A concert, 
followed by a ball, was to close in a becoming 
manner, the brilliant reunions, which had made her 
chateau so deservedly popular. Autumn had set 
in, and the cold winds made families think of re- 
turning to the warmth and comfort of their houses 
in town. Several had deferred their return to 
Tours, Amboise and Paris, in order to assist at 
this last ball at the chateau de Pardieux. Sanchez 
and Clotilde were not of this number. Rather 
tired of the fetes they had been taking part in lately. 


THE ANONYMOUS LETTERS 


33 ^ 


they had decided to pass the winter in Touraine, 
and the marquis had written to his mother to make 
such arrangements as would enable her to visit 
them there. A gray September sky gave to the 
country those somber tints calculated to impress 
certain sensitive natures disagreeably. 

Sanchez was peculiarly sensitive to atmospheric 
influence. The hot blood that flowed in his veins 
loved light and sunshine; so he was not in a pro- 
pitious mood for taking a share in the gay doings. 
Nevertheless, having promised Clotilde to conduct 
her to this last entertainment, he never dreamed 
of breaking his engagement. 

On his side, Gomez, almost as much under the 
influence of the weather as his master, was in the 
worst of tempers,, which was not improved by the 
state in which he found his faithful companion 
Demonio. For two days past, he had remained 
in his kennel, indifferent to the voice of his master, 
whom he was, as a rule, so prompt to obey. He 
lay for hours with his head resting on his fore paws. 
Sometimes, as if attacked by a sudden feeling of 
restlessness, he would vainly seek for a position 
which admitted of repose. His look naturally 
gentle and intelligent, was wandering and anxious. 
He refused all nourishment and at times, suddenly 


332 


THE ANONYMOUS LETTERS 


rushed out the full length of his chain, his mouth 
open, as if charging an imaginary enemy. His 
evident suffering affected Gomez painfully. The 
marquis noticed the melancholy appearance of his 
steward and asked the cause. 

“Demonio is very ill. Monsieur le Marquis.” 

“What is the matter with him.?” 

“I do not know. If he does not get better, I 
must send for a veterinary surgeon.” 

“You ought to do so now. Let us go and see 
Demonio.” 

When they arrived in the yard where the bull- 
* dog lay, he was crouching far back in his kennel. 

“Demonio! Demonio! here!” said Gomez going 
up to him. 

On hearing his master’s voice, the dull dog 
raised his head, and then allowed it to drop again 
on his chest. 

“You see. Monsieur le Marquis, he hardly hears 
me, and here is his food lying untouched since 
yesterday. Some vile creature must have poisoned 
him.” 

“You are alarming yourself unnecessarily, Gomez. 
The dog looks ill; but I do not think the case so 
serious as you imagine; nevertheless, you ought 
not to neglect consulting a veterinary surgeon 
without delay.” 


THE ANONYMOUS I.ETTERS 


333 


“I will go to Amboise for one this moment.” 

They returned to the cheatau and entered it, 
without remarking that Manoel came out, and after 
having slipped behind a thicket, made his way to 
the stables as if he wished to avoid being seen. 
Gomez mounted to his garret. The marquis re- 
entered his room to read and smoke. Clotilde 
was in the salon, and the sound of the piano which 
she was playing could be plainly heard by her 
husband in his little sanctum. Sanchez took up 
the book he had been reading the evening before. 
A folded paper fell out. The marquis picked it 
up, opened it, and read the following words, in a 
writing altogether unfamiliar to him: 

“Treacherous as the waves are the daughters of 
Eve! Eyes of the purest azure sometimes hide a 
vile heart. It is more difficult to guess a woman’s 
thoughts than to know what God thinks. She 
who deceives you, blinds you with her caresses. 
Watch George, it is he you must distrust. 

A FRIEND. ” 

This anonymous denunciation brought a crowd 
of thoughts to the marquis’ mind. He did not 
attach any great importance to it at first, but he 
reread it twenty times. 

“This note was a cowardly calumny,” he said to 


334 


THE ANONYMOUS LETTERS 


himself. “Clotilde is an angel; to suspect her is 
an infamy! She loves me, and has never loved 
another.” 

But in spite of this reasoning, he felt the doubt 
grow in his heart, a terrible, frightful doubt, which 
seemed to pierce him like a poignard. He began 
to pace the room in a state of agitation, pondering 
on what he ought to do. The idea of going to 
Clotilde and loyally showing her the note, at first 
occurred to him, but he did not feel sufficiently 
master of himself, if his young wife did not accept 
his enquiry as he would wish. Crushing the mis- 
sive angrily between^ his fingers, he unfolded and 
re-read it, unable to keep his eyes from the fatal 
warning, until at last, he threw it in the fire, but 
even while it was burning, he devoured each 
phrase as it disappeared in the flames. This 
salutary auto da fe helped him to regain his com- 
posure. He made a violent effort to banish his 
melancholy forebodings, trying to allow himself to 
be soothed by listening to his wife’s music. 

At last he got up and went down to join her. 

“May I listen a little nearer he said to her. 

“You were listening to me then.?” 

“Yes, for an hour past. Continue, I beg of you.” 

The marchioness did as he requested. Sanches 


THE ANONYMOUS LETTERS 


335 


leaned with his elbows on the piano and looked at 
her very earnestly. Clotilde smiled up at him as 
she played, and that smile banished from his mind 
all that remained of the fatal impression caused by 
the anonymous letter. 

The day passed in making preparations for the 
evening. Clotilde had arranged a charming 
toilette. 

“Your taste is simply perfect,” said Sanchez to 
her. “You are going to be too beautiful, my 
Clotilde!” 

“Never enough, dear, since you are the one I 
adorn myself for.” 

“Who gave you the idea of this very original 
toilette.^” 

“Oh! I saw something like it worn by Madame 
de Chambruele’s god-daughter, the Baroness de 
Mauroy. Do you know her.^” 

“Scarcely.” 

“She danced the cotillon v/ith Monsieur de 
Maurange.” 

This name revived all Sanchez’s anguish. 

His face darkened. 

“There is something the matter with you, San- 
chez said Clotilde. 

“No, there is nothing,” he replied; leaving the 


room. 


336 


THE ANONYMOUS LETTERS 


When they were seated in the carriage which 
was to convey them to the count’s chateau, the 
marquis, not knowing what line of conduct he 
ought to adopt, finally made up his mind to watch 
George and Clotilde very closely during the ball. 
Never had de Maurange been in better spirits than 
on this evening. This gayety irritated Sanchez. 

Never had George found so many different 
occasions to approach the countess and speak to 
her. The young wife laughed at his sallies, never 
noticing the dark looks her husband directed at 
her. It required great strength of will on the 
marquis’ part to restrain himself. One incident 
put the finishing touch to his fury. While the 
orchestra were playing the concluding chords of a 
waltz, separated from his wife by a crowd of 
dancers, he saw her take a few turns in the dance 
with George, and it seemed to him that the latter 
whispered something in Clotilde’s ear while they 
danced. At the sight of this, the blood rushed to 
his heart and he was on the point of springing 
forward to drag his wife from her partner’s arms, 
when the music ceased. 

A scene of violence would undoubtedly have taken 
place during their return to La Frilli^re, if the 
marquis had been left alone with Clotilde during 


THE ANONYMOUS LETTERS 


337 


the drive; but the springs of a neighbor’s carriage 
had got broken and the gentleman having accepted 
a seat in theirs, a favor d’Aviella dared not refuse, 
he, under the plea of extreme fatigue, left Clotilde 
to do the honors during the drive home. On 
arriving near the chateau, at the moment that the 
carriage entered the winding avenue leading up to 
the gate, the three travelers heard in the distance 
a prolonged howl of distress, which impressed 
them uncomfortably. 

“Do you hear that, Sanchez?” 

The marquis did not reply. 

“Some wandering dog,” suggested the baron. 

“There is something sinister in the sound of his 
voice,” remarked Clotilde. 

“The silence of the night makes it sound more 
weird.” 

On arriving at the entrance, the carriage, after 
having stopped to allow Sanchez and Clotilde to 
descend, returned down the avenue. Madame 
Firmin was waiting to attend on the marchioness. 
The marquis left his wife and went to his own 
room, where he dropped into an armchair, a prey 
to the most violent agitation. The manner in which 
he had left her, struck Clotilde, who dismissed her 
companion as soon as she had regained her apart- 


338 


THE ANONYMOUS LETTERS 


ment. Her own preoccupation prevented her 
from remarking the ill concealed agitation of Mad- 
ame Firmin, who gladly availed herself of the 
permission to retire. Clotilde entered her oratory, 
situated at the side of her bedroom. Magnet, 
who dozed lazily on a velvet cushion, awoke, and 
came gently towards her, wagging his silky fringed 
tail; but the marchioness accorded him but a cold 
welcome, and the spoilt pet, very much surprised, 
returned to his cushion. 

Clotilde knelt down and prayed God to remove 
the dark shadow on her husband's mind. After 
having offered up a long and sincere prayer, she 
returned to her room and looked despairingly at 
the mantel shelf, never expecting to find the 
bouquet Sanchez was in the habit of placing daily 
there, but the bouquet was there, and the young 
marchioness trembled with joy on beholding it. 

“Oh! I am foolish,’’ she inwardly reflected; “it 
is only a passing cloud.” And seizing the bouquet, 
she showered kisses on it. But scarcely had her 
lips touched the flowers, when a sensation of 
drowsiness overcame her, she tried to struggle 
against the feeling, but her eyelids gradually 
drooped over her beautiful, tearful eyes. In vain 
he endeavored to reach the bell communicating 


THE ANONYMOUS LETTERS 


339 


with Sanchez’s room, before she was able to seize 
the cord, she sank gently on the ground, her head 
reposing on the divan. 

As she lay thus, in her ball dress, her lovely 
arms and neck exposed to view, and the smile with 
which she had welcomed the sight of the fatal 
bouquet still lingering on her lips, she was divinely 
beautiful. When the regularity of her breathing 
proved that she was sound asleep, a curtain was 
raised, and Schiba cautiously advanced, and 
watched her for some time in silence. The cold, 
steadfast look of the old Indian was terrible. A 
pale smile crossed his lips as bending over the 
young wife, he held a small flask to her nostrils, 
which, as she inhaled seemed to make her sink 
into a deeper slumber; then, opening the window, 
he gave a scarcely perceptible whistle. 

A moment later, four bahts crawled in through 
the window by means ’’ of a ladder placed against 
the wall of the chateau. Without uttering a 
word, Schiba directed their attention to the sleep- 
ing marchioness. Then one of the bahis unfolded 
a hammock, and aided by his companions, placed 
Clotilde in it. Then having fastened a stout rope 
to each of the rings of the hammock, they launched 
it into space and gently lowered it into the hands 

22B 


340 


THE ANONYMOUS LETTERS 


of four other attendants. That done, those who 
remained in the chateau with Schiba, descended 
the ladder, and all the party hastened to the little 
door opening on the Vauvroy road. 

There a carriage was waiting. They placed 
Clotilde in it, and Schiba, giving, this time, a very 
shrill whistle, waited with the bakis. The instant 
this whistle sounded, one of the sides of a window 
caressly closed in Sanchez's room, was pushed 
open, and a note, folded round a little pebble, 
was thrown at the marquis’ feet. He rushed to 
the window, but the night was dark, and he could 
only hear the sound of fast retreating footsteps. 
He turned, picked up the note and opened it. 
Traced by the same hand as the one he had re- 
ceived in the morning, he saw the following words: 

“She is deceiving you; at this moment George 
is with her. If you wish to see them, leave your 
park by the Vauvroy door, •and have confidence in 
the man you will find there.” 

The marquis, after having read the letter, with 
one bound rushed up to Clotilde’s room and enter- 
ing, found it empty; then dismayed, wild with 
grief and anger, he seized a poignard, left the 
chateau, and hastened to the spot designated. 

A few minutes^before, one of the bahisy smaller 


THE ANONYMOUS LETTERS 


241 


than any of his companions, had rejoined Schiba 
and his companions. 

‘‘Well?” said the old Indian to him. 

“He has the letter, I shall go with her; you 
must await him here,” 

The carriage with the unknown, disguised as a 
bahisy and two attendants immediately drove off. 

Scarcely had she disappeared, when the marquis, 
hardly conscious of what he was doing, came up 
to the khansaman. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


HYPNOTISM. 

In spite of the obscurity of the night, Schiba 
had not neglected to take every precaution. 
Neither he nor any of his attendants wore the 
Indian costume; only the bahis, who had entered 
the carriage with Clotilde and the unknown, wore 
their national dress. This prudence was not thrown 
away, for, at the moment that Sanchez arrived, 
the sky cleared, and the silvery disc of the moon 
was visible for several moments. 

At first, the marquis did not see the old Indian, 
who stood in the shadow with the disguised bahis. 
He threw a questioning glance around and gave 
way to a quick movement of anger. Schiba, 
leaving the group of attendants, came forward into 
the light and said : 

“Marquis Sanchez d’Aviella, I am the one you 
are looking for.” 

At the sound of his voice, the marquis turned 
round and giving a searching look at the old man, 
342 


HYPNOTISM 


343 


tried to obtain a more distinct view of his features. 

“You need not try to see if you know me. We 
have never met before,” said the khansaman. 
And to remove any lingering doubt from the mar- 
quis* mind on this score, he lifted his broad 
brimmed hat, which concealed the upper part of 
his face, and the moon’s rays fell on his long, 
white beard. 

“Who are you.^^” demanded the marquis. 

“One who speaks the truth.” 

“You have lied, and you shall die!” exclaimed 
Sanchez raising his poignard to strike. 

He had scarcely raised the weapon when the 
bahis rushing forward, quickly disarmed him, and 
holding him firmly in their strong grasp, forced 
him to stand motionless. There had hardly been 
any struggle. The unexpectedness of the attack, 
and still more, the number of his assailants ren- 
dered any resistance on the marquis’ part useless. 

“You see, I am not alone,” said Schiba coldly; 
“do not threaten, but listen.” 

“First of all, tell these men to unhand me; I 
have no weapon, so you have nothing to fear, 
either you or they.” 

Schiba made a sign, and the marquis was set at 
liberty. 


HYPNOTISM 


^44 

‘‘Now, what do you want with me? Is it my 
life, or my purse, you wish to take?” said Sanchez 
as soon as he was liberated. 

“Neither the one nor the other. Do you take 
us for highwaymen?” 

“Yes, for I begin to think I have fallen into 
some snare.” 

“The snare is not for you.” 

“Who is it for theni^” 

“For your rival, George de Maurange.” 

“This note which I have just received, is it not 
false?” 

“No; your heart has answered that already, 
since you are here, and you suspect only half of 
the truth, since Clotlide has left your house.” 

‘T must know everything! But again, for the 
last time, who are you ?” 

“The instrument which executes.” 

“And the hand which directs you?” 

“Is a woman’s.” 

“A woman’s?” 

“Yes, a woman’s and one who has loved George 
and wishes to avenge herself on the marchioness 
and you.” 

“But my wife cannot love this traitor?” 

“She does love him.” 


HYPNOTISM 


345 


“She cannot be with him?” 

“She is.” 

“The proof! ah! the proof!” cried Sanchez. 

“We shall take you to the very place where they 
are at this moment — if you will.” 

“Let us go.” 

“One moment. Have you the courage.^” 

“You can see for yourself. Yes, I will witness 
my own shame, and drink this cup of bitterness 
to the very dregs.” 

“Will you consent to have your eyes bound 

“Do it.” 

“That is not all. You must swear not to remove 
the bandage, under any pretext, before I give you 
permission to do so.” 

“I swear it! Let us go.” 

“This oath is not sufficient.” 

“Do you doubt my word?” 

“No, but I distrust your impatience and temper.” 

“What more can I do to satisfy you?” 

“A very simple thing; let your hands be tied be- 
hind your back; bound in this way, you cannot 
break your oath.” 

“And you swear I shall see the infamous villain!” 

“Within an hour you will see him at Clotilde's 
feet; but if, while concealed, and watching their 


346 


HYPNOTISM 


interview, you make one movement, or raise your 
voice, you are a dead man !” 

“Die without avenging myself on them, no 
never! You need not fear for me. I will be 
silent.’^ 

Two bahis bandaged the marquis’ eyes, and 
bound his hands firmly behind his back. Then 
Sanchez felt himself lifted from the ground and 
some minutes later found himself lying on cushions 
which semeed to be borne swiftly along by men, 
whose rapid steps he could hear distinctly on the 
road. They had, in fact, put him in a palanquin. 
Schiba was reclining at his side without his being 
aware of it, and the bahis were following the road 
leading to the house inhabited by the unknown. 
In half an hour they stopped, and Sanchez felt 
they were leading him into a room the warmth of 
which offered a grateful contrast to the sharp wind 
whistling through the trees outside. 

“Not one word, not a movement,” said Schiba 
in a warning voice, “and wait.” 

The khansaman gave some orders in a low voice 
to the bahis, and leaving the marquis, entered 
another room where the unknown and George, 
who was standing near Clotilde, who was still 
asleep, awaited him. 


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% V 







GEORGE DREW CLOTILDE’S LOVELY HEAD DOWN ON HIS SHOULDER AND PRESSED 

A LONG KISS ON HER LIPS. P. 350. 


HYPNOTISM 


347 


“He is there, mistress; let us make haste.” 

“Be careful to play your role well,” said the un- 
known to George. 

The latter said not a word. He was very pale. 
Completely under the ascendancy which Schiba and 
his mysterious companion exercised over him, 
stimulated by the bait of the three millions offered 
to him, desirous of revenging himself on d’Aviella, 
who had won from him the beautiful woman now 
so near him, his emotion almost overpowered him. 

“Come, be brave,” said Schiba to him, “you are 
going to avenge yourself and win a fortune with 
one blow, that is to say, taste two pleasures at the 
same time.” 

“But who is going to kill the marquis.^” de- 
manded George in a trembling voice. 

“Grief,” replied the unknown. 

Meanwhile, Schiba had lowered the lamps, and 
having made the marchioness again inhale the 
contents of a flask waited for some minutes. The 
unknown and de Maurange followed his movements 
in anxious silence. 

After a short interval, Clotilde seemed to recover 
from the profound stupor into which she had been 
plunged. Her almost suspended respiration, be- 
came regular and more natural, and she seemed as 


348 


HYt>NOtlSM 


if making an effort to open her eyes; but at the 
very moment she was about to raise her eyelids, 
Schiba placed one of his hands on her forehead 
and with the other made some slow passes, which 
plunged the marchioness into a second sleep, but 
of a different nature from the first. Thus magne- 
tised, Clotilde, under the khansaman’s influence, 
assumed the look of a person languidly awakening 
from a pleasant dream. Her eyes slowly opened, 
and she fixed them on the mute witnesses of this 
scene without seeing them. She sat up on the 
divan where until now she had been lying. 

“Place yourself there,” said Schiba to George, 
who obeyed by kneeling down before the mar- 
chioness, and taking one of her hands in his. 

When they were arranged in this way, the old 
Indian lighted all the candles standing on the 
mantel shelf, and having made a sign to the Un- 
known, who glided into the room, where Sanchez 
was waiting, he hid himself behind a drapery. 
Sanchez’s impatience had arrived at its height 
during these preparations. Doubt, grief, and 
anger deprived him of all reasoning power. It 
seemed to him that he had waited a century, when 
one of the bahis^ on a sign from the unknown, 
who disappeared immediatley on giving it, undid 
his bandage. 


HYPNOTISM 


349 


The room in which the marquis found himself 
was dimly lighted. The bahis^ still in silence, led 
him towards a heavy drapery, and having raised 
it, stood up immediately behind him. 

Sanchez could then see into the room where 
George de Mautange was on his knees before 
Clotilde. Only a pane of glass separated them. 
On seeing them, Sanchez made a violent effort to 
stifle the cry of grief and rage that rose to his lips. 
Mastering his feelings by a superhuman effort of 
will, he listened. 

“O, Clotilde,” said George to the marchioness, 
“how can I ever repayr you for having taken eom- 
passion on my despair, for having rewarded me for 
my patient waiting, for having listened to my 
heart! You are not a woman, you are angel^ sur- 
passing all others in beauty, and it seems to me 
as if Heaven had placed you on my road that I 
might have a taste of the happiness reserved for 
the elect. Speak, my own one, repeat once more 
the tender avowal of your love.” 

The marchioness remained motionless. 

“I love you,” she said mechanically, as if yield- 
ing to some invisible force. 

Sanchez staggered backwards. The bakis sup- 
ported him, and forced him to resume his former 
position. 


350 


HYPNOTISM 


“Oh! what happiness lies in those words!” said 
George. “After so many struggles and obstacles, 
to meet again, to belong to each other, what joy! 
You will never know, my poor heart, how I have 
suffered; jealousy has almost killed me; I thought 
you were lost to me forever; with that man, that 
Sanchez, appearing constantly before me like an 
abhorred specter.” 

“Do not let us speak of him,” uttered Clotilde 
in the same strained tone. 

“You are right, my life, let us forget all, and 
think only of our love. The world separated, 
but Heaven has reunited us. You have yielded, 
by coming here, to a love greater than that which 
rules vain and vulgar minds. And now that you 
are here, with me, your hands in my hands, now 
that I can cover them with kisses, and inhale the 
delicious perfume of your divine hair, O, my fair 
goddess! let your slave adore his idol as an angel 
and a woman in one.” 

At these words, pronounced in a tone of real 
emotion, but caused by feelings very different from 
those attributed to them by the marquis, George 
drew Clotilde’s lovely head down on his shoulder 
and pressed a long kiss on her lips. Sanchez could 
no longer restrain himself. 


HYPNOTISM 


351 


‘‘Kill me!” he said to the bahis, “kill me!” 

At this moment Schiba reappeared. 

“Did I speak the truth or not?” 

Give me my poignard and let me kill myself; 
I wish to die !” 

“Without revenging yourself?” 

“You are right; yes, I must be revenged on 
them! Oh! my God, how I suffer! I am dying!” 

And overcome by the horrible constraint he had 
imposed on himself, during this scene, Sanchez fell 
back unconscious in the arms of the attendants. 
The noise of a carriage was at this moment heard 
in the yard. 

“She is leaving,” said Schiba. “Reconduct the 
marquis to the spot where we met him. The cool 
night air will help to revive him.” 

An hour later, Sanchez found himself lying ex- 
tended on the grass near the little door of his own 
park where he had first encountered the khansaman 
and his companions, after having read the second 
anonymous note. 


CHAPTER XXIL 


y 

DEMONIO. 

The horrible plan of vengeance conceived by 
Schiba and the unknown which we have just seen 
partly carried into effect, had been conceived by 
them with deep art and perfidy and showed how 
perfectly they understood the irascible and vindic- 
tive disposition of the marquis. They had followed 
him about, studying his mode of life, watching 
for the propitious moment when they could strike 
most cruelly. As soon as they discovered his love 
for Clotilde Schunberg, they had removed every 
obstacle separating him from her, and when he 
had become her husband, they still persevered in 
their dark and patient hate, deferring th^ execution 
of their terrible plot, until the moment when the 
marquis’ happiness should be complete, and in 
consequence, his despair and grief be all the more 
poignant, when he discovered the guilt of the 
woman he loved so passionately. In spite of the 
skill displayed by these persevering and cruel ene- 
352 


DEMONIC 


353 


mies, Sanchez, had he possessed a well balanced 
mind, before condemning Clotilde, would have first 
sought to clear away his doubts, and the singular 
manner in which these events were accomplished 
must have awakened a natural desire to analyze 
the true designs of her accusers. But jealousy 
exercised such a sway over Sanchez that Schiba’s 
plan was completely successful. 

Madame Firmin had opened the window of 
Sanchez' room and during the absence of her 
master had allowed the old Indian to secret himself 
in the marchioness' room, where he had placed a 
bouquet sprinkled with a powder composed of the 
leaves of the upas and manchineel trees, which had 
plunged Clotilde, on inhaling the perfume arising 
from it, into a sleep so profound that the poor girl 
was rendered perfectly oblivious of all that was 
taking place around her. 

When Sanchez recovered consciousness, aston- 
ishment at finding himself alone on the road at 
night, prevented him from realizing all that had 
taken place; but gradually, his memory returned, 
and again seizing his poignard which Schiba had 
returned to his side, he exclaimed: 

“Yes, I must kill her!'’ 

He was about to enter the little door of the park. 


354 


DEMONIO 


with the intention of rushing to Clotilde’s room, 
without stopping to consider whether he would find 
her there, when Gomez pale, excited, his clothes 
in disorder, and armed with a carbine, appeared 
on the threshold at the same moment as his master. 

‘‘What! Is it you. Monsieur le Marquis?’’ 

“Who are you?” said Sanchez wildly. 

“I, Gomez.” 

“What are you doing here at this hour? Were 
you following her?” 

The steward misunderstood. 

“Yes, for do you know what it is? it is hydro- 
phobia; he must be killed, my poor Demonio. 
You understand, monsieur, do you not?” 

The same prolonged howl which had attracted 
Clotilde and her companion’s attention on their 
return from the chateau de Pardieux, broke the 
silence of the night. 

“The veterinary surgeon from Amboise had 
hardly told me, when Demonio, in a sudden access 
of fury, broke his chain, and fled into the woods,” 
said Gomez. “I went at once for my gun, and 
have been hunting for the poor animal but, as if 
warned by instinct that I was calling him to his 
death, each time he hears my voice, he runs away 
from me, without giving me time to take proper 
aim.” 


DEMONIO 355 

“Hydrophobia! — He has hydrophobia, your dog, 
Gomez,” said Sanchez with a singular accent. 

“Just as I said. Monsieur le Marquis; Ido not 
know what to do; he will sow the seeds of death 
wherever he goes if he is not killed before daylight.” 

“Return to your room, Gomez; I shall see to 
everything.” 

“You, Monsieur le Marquis, you run into such 
danger?” 

“Go back, I tell you, I wish it!” 

While speaking, the marquis and his steward 
had regained the front entrance to the chateau. 
Sanchez spoke in such a tone of fierce authority 
that there was nothing left for the steward to do 
but to obey in silence. He went up the little 
tower, while Sanchez slipped up by the back;, stair- 
case into the marchioness’ oratory. The idea 
which he had conceived was horrible; a frightful 
thought had just entered into his heart, now ren- 
dered implacable through jealous rage. A sup- 
pressed laugh, infinitely more terrifying than any 
paroxysm of anger, convulsed his throat and 
lips; he crept along the staircase of his own house 
like a thief. The chateau was lighted up by the 
bright moonlight streaming through the windows. 
Arrived at the oratory,, h§ dotted a strange glance 


356 


DEMONIC 


at Magnet lying asleep on her favorite cushion, 
then passed into Clotilde’s bedroom. His young 
wife was in bed, and sleeping as calmly as a child. 
The marquis drew near and gazed at her for some 
moments in silence. Clotilde’s lips moved as she 
murmured: 

‘‘Sanchez!” 

But this evident mark of her love, which might 
have proved to the jealous anger raging in his 
heart and thoughts, that he was wrong, far from 
calming d’Aviella redoubled his wrath. He glared 
at Clotilde with a look of scorn and hatred, and in 
a threatening voice he muttered: “Wretch!” as 
he raised his poignard. But he as quickly lowered 
it, and again the same smile, impossible to describe, 
played around his lips; quickly regaining the 
oratory, he seized Magnet, holding the muzzle so 
as to prevent the little creature from uttering a 
cry, and returned to his room. 

There he lighted the fire, place the poker in the 
glowing coals, put on a pair of thick hunting boots, 
armed himself with a pair of pistols, and having 
wrapped some handkerchiefs round his wrists, fixed 
his poignard firmly in one of them; then seizing 
Magnet, he left the chateau, directing his steps 
towards the spot where at long intervals Deiponio’s 


DEMONIC 


3S7 


agonized howls could be heard. When he had 
gone some distance, a dark figure appeared at the 
marchioness’ window. There had been a witness 
to Sanchez’s visit. The unknown had concealed 
herself behind the drapery which had served as a 
hiding place for Schiba some hours before. Pale 
and shuddering, she had seen Sanchez lift his 
poignard over his young wife’s heart. She had 
closed her eyes in horror, and only opened them 
when she heard him leave the room. Then, she 
had hastened to the bed and seeing her still sleep- 
ing calmly with a smile on her lips, made a gesture 
of profound astonishment and advanced towards 
the window. Very soon, the ladder was replaced 
by the bahis^ and the unknown rejoined Schiba in 
the garden. 

“He has not killed her!” she said. “Can you 
understand it? Yet I thought the end had come 
at last.” 

“He has left the chateau; return with the bahis^ 
mistress; I shall follow him.” 

With these words they separated, and the old 
Indian, with astonishing agility considering his 
great age, followed in the track of the marquis 
whom he soon perceived walking quickly in the 
direction of a small wood, sitviatod at a quarter of 


358 


DEMONIO 


a league from the chateau. Sanchez* face was 
livid; his bloodshot eyes wore a dangerous expres- 
sion full of frenzy and firm resolve. He arrived at 
the opening of the wood without noticing that he 
was followed, and unhesitatingly entered it. The 
fierce howling of the enraged and suffering animal 
came more clearly to his ears. This sinister sound 
sent a chill through Sanchez* whole frame, but 
he still hurried forward, breaking with frantic haste 
the branches that intercepted his onward path. At 
last, the man and beast were face to face. De- 
monio presented a terrifying appearance. 

His aggressive appearance did not intimidate the 
marquis, more than the approach of the jaguar on 
his midnight hunts. 

“Demonio, here!” he called out authoritatively 
walking up to the bull-dog. 

At the sound of the familiar voice, the latter 
stood up and gave a loud yell, more ferocious and 
piercing than any he had: yet given, but he did not 
move. Sanchez went forward a few steps; then, 
when about two paces from the terrible animal, he 
held Magnet out to him, who trembled in every 
limb, whining pitiously and excited Demonig by 
voice and gesture. The bull-dog remained immove- 
able, Three different times the marquis renewed 


DEMONIO 


359 


his attempts, and three times Demonic howled, 
then hung down his head. Sanchez at last, seizing 
his pistol, fired, and wounded the dog in the leg. 
Fury succeeded Demonio’s apathy. 

With one bound, he sprang at the marquis. 

Then a terrible struggle ensued; presenting his 
fist bound up with handkerchief’s to all the dog’s 
attacks, Sanchez saved himself from being bitten 
by him, but by a skilful feint, which Sanchez’s 
own excitement and haste prevented him from 
foreseeing, Demonio caught him by the leg, mak-r 
ing his jaws meet in the tender flesh, where, in 
spite of the thick leather boots, two poisonous teeth 
penetrated, inflicting a deep wound on the marquis. 

With one stroke of his poignard, Sanchez 
stretched the bull-dog at his feet, cutting his throat 
open from which the dark blood flowed thickly; 
then, while Demonio lay gasping out his life, he 
again held out Magnet, who until then had escaped 
injury. One of the little creatures paws entered 
the dog’s mouth, to whom excess of suffering gave 
back a last remnant of strength, and giving a snap 
at the marchioness’ little favorite, he inflicted a 
slight wound. 

Sanchez rose from Demonio’s ^dead body, and 
watched the blood flowing from Magnet’s wound 


36o 


DEMONIC 


with savage joy as he retraced his steps; then, in- 
stead of endeavoring to make the flow of blood 
more abundant, he brought the parts together, so 
that the rabid virus might not escape from the 
wound. 

Ten minutes later, he was in the marchioness' 
oratory, and slipping Magnet in his wife's room, 
he gently closed the door. Then only, he thought 
of himself, regained his apartment, and having un- 
covered his wound, cauterised it with the poker, 
which during his absence had become of a white 
heat. 

Schiba had lost nothing of the scene in the little 
wood. When the marquis was on his way back to 
the chateau, the old Indian approached the dead 
body of the dog, examined it by the light of a dark 
lantern, which he carried with him, and glancing 
in the direction Sanchez had gone with a look of 
horror. 

“Oh!^^ he cried to himself with a shudder, “I un- 
derstand all now; more terrible, more implacable 
than ever!” 

Then, after a moment of hesitation: 

“All the better,” he added. “Our vengeance 
will only be the more complete.” 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


AFTER THE VENGEANCE. 

The terrible night during which these frightful 
events we have just related were accomplished, 
had given place to-day, when excess of fatigue 
conquered the marquis’ anxieties and forced him 
to sleep. But this repose proved even more pain- 
ful for Sanchez than his waking anguish. A 
hideous panorama of frightful dreams, all his life 
seemed to pass in review before him, in somber 
threatening colors, and each one of the fatal events 
appeared even more sinister than the reality. The 
ravine in Brazil where he had killed Lakhmi, the 
alley in the Bois de Boulogne where George de 
Maurange had fallen by his hand, ending in Clo- 
tilde’s room where she was threatened through the 
presence of Magnet, by the most horrible of deaths, 
succeeded each other alternately, peopled by livid, 
mocking phantoms, hiding their skeleton heads 
under masks reproducing the features of the three 
beings on whom he had wrecked such awful ven- 
361 


362 AFTER THE VENGEANCE 

geance. These terrifying visions, these dreams of 
blood, mingled with tears of remorse, lasted until 
the marquis was awakened from his painful sleep 
by the entrance of Gomez into his room. 

A splendid autumn sun poured its rays into the 
room. Had it not been for this dazzling light, the 
marquis, still under the influence of nightmare, 
might have taken the steward for a phantom. As 
it was, his forehead was bathed in a cold perspira- 
tion and his features still wore such a disturbed 
expression, that Gomez exclaimed: 

‘‘What has happened, what is the matter with 
you. Monsieur le Marquis.?’^ 

“Nothing, replied Sanchez roughly. “I am glad 
you woke me. What o’clock is it.?” 

“Midday. Madame la Marquise is waiting lunch 
for you.” 

At the mention of his wife’s name, d’Aviella’s 
eyes flashed, and he turned deadly pale. 

“Are you ill, have you been hurt.?” asked Gomez 
anxiously. 

“There is nothing the matter, I tell you; you 
may leave me.” 

“And Demonio.?” 

“He is dead. I killed him; leave me.” 

The steward obeyed. Finding himself alone, 


AFTER THE VENGEANCE 363 

Sanche^^ allowed his head to drop between his 
hands. He recalled everything now, and a world 
of thoughts rose to his mind. Hatred and anger 
took the lead of all other sentiments which agitated 
him. When at last he was ready, he hesitated a 
long time. A few steps only separated him from 
Clotilde, from the false wife, as he mentally stig- 
matized her. He recoiled from meeting and seeing 
her again by the light of day for the first time since 
her supposed crime, but overcoming his agitation 
and assuming as well as he could his ordinary 
demeanor, he descended to the dining-room. 
The marchioness was waiting for him, attired in 
a beautiful morning toilette which enhanced the 
effect of her fresh young beauty. 

This had no effect on the marquis, and his man - 
ner towards her was even coldly polite, for which 
the unfortunate Clotilde could find no reason. 
Her calm, quiet manner only served to feed his 
hatred as he could only regard it as a total absence 
of all proper feeling. Two days later, when Clo- 
tilde had held out her hand to him: 

“What is the matter.?” he asked in a tone she 
could not define. 

“Nothing very much; only Magnet bit me. I 
have punished him. ” 


364 


AFTER THE VENGEANCE 


The crime was accomplished but the knowledge 
that he had struck the blow failed to move Sanchez. 

He glanced more than once at his victim in a 
singular manner but she did not notice it; and after 
scarcely touching the dishes offered him he went 
out shooting with Gomez. From that day in spite 
of the active life he led the marquis, although he 
congratulated himself on what he had done, had not 
one hour of repose. Clotilde, towards whom her 
husband’s manner was completely changed, tried 
in vain to imagine the cause of his singular conduct. 

Although believing he had punished the most 
unworthy of women, the sight of this beautiful 
young creature, smiling and gay, who unconscious- 
ly carried in her system the germ of the most hor- 
rible of deaths, froze the blood in his veins and 
brought on paroxysms of remorse and rage impos- 
sible to describe. At times he was tempted to 
give free vent to his indigantion, go to Clotlide 
and denounce her, terrify her by telling her that 
he knew all, and also, in what a terrible manner 
he had revenged himself. Then again, the ap- 
proaching denouement of his gloomy tragedy, made 
him tremble in spite of himself. 

In imagniation he already heard the first cry ut- 
tered by the unhappy victim when the disease de- 


AFTER THE VENGEANCE 365 

dared itself, saw her, pale and haggard and look- 
ing like a corpse, or attacked by fits of mad fury, 
and he made up his mind that when that terrible 
hour came, he would fly. At last, in spite of all 
he had seen and heard, the love which Clotilde 
evinced for him, her sweet, calm beauty, the mel- 
ancholy caused by his coldness, brought grave 
doubts to Sanchez’s mind. And then the old hatred 
he bore to George de Maurange was again rekindled 
in his heart. 

Undisciplined minds cannot argue logically. 

D’Aviella admitted in odd moments, the pos- 
sibility of Clotilde’s innocence; and yet, he did not 
cease, for one moment, to accuse George of having 
stolen her heart. Every morning he went off with 
Gomez on the pretence of shooting; but the finest 
partridges might rise at his approach, the marquis 
strode along without attempting a shot. Gomez, 
who was at a loss what to attribute his singular 
conduct to, dealt destruction around and soon filled 
his bag. 

Shooting, besides, was a mere pretext on San- 
chez part. The real motive of these long walks in 
the country was to discover some trace of George. 
The more he reflected on what he had seen, the 
less he could explain to himself the end these mys- 


366 


AFTER THE VENGEANCE 


terious men had in view who had been his guides on 
that fatal night. His thoughts reverted to Count 
de Pardieux’s chateau, but the president and his wife 
had returned to Amboise, and the chateau was now 
empty. Finding it impossible to discover the 
house in which he believed Clotilde had been 
basely betrayed, Sanchez gave up all hope of re- 
venging himself on George. He was a prey to 
sudden feelings of terror, inexplicable to any one 
who might have witnessed them. This occult 
power only seemed more formidable in his eyes, 
because he could not define its aim, and he believed 
himself continually surrounded by enemies or spies. 

The marchioness, at last broken-hearted by the 
inexplicable conduct of her husband, made an 
opportunity of speaking to him and spoke with 
such an accent of truth, that Sanchez’ convictions 
were more unsettled than ever. He left her, 
almost ready to ask for forgiveness, his heart filled 
with remorse and anxiety. 

A month had now passed since the fete at the 
chateau de Pardieux. 

Late one night on entering his room, under the 
influence of a more acute grief than any he had 
yet experienced, a letter lying on the table attracted 
his attention. He shivered as he examined it, for 


AFTER THE VENGEANCE 


367 


he recognised the writing; it was similar to what 
had appeared on the anonymous notes. He tore 
it open and eagerly devoured the lines which were 
as follows: 

“Jealousy and anger mislead the heart of man. 
Before accusing he ought to see and hear for him- 
self, and having seen and heard, ought still to 
doubt.” 

The perusal of this missive redoubled the mar- 
quis’ anxiety by awakening the wildest hope in his 
heart that his wife wasrinnocent; but supposing 
she was innocent, what had he done.^ He stood 
a long time motionless, crushing, the fatal note in 
his hand, recalling the scene of love which he had 
witnessed, and feeling his jealous suspicions grad- 
ually disappear. His powers of endurance were at 
an end. He wished to see Clotilde, speak to her, 
and in spite of the advanced hour, he went to the 
marchioness* room, and entered it softly. At the 
noise made by his entance, Clotilde, who was lying 
OH a lounge weeping silently, removedi the hand- 
kerchief which she held to her eyes, and displayed 
a face bathed in tears. They looked at each other 
in silence for a moment, Sanchez wildly, Clotilde 
in surprise at seeing him come into her room so 
late» The marchioness’ tears ghased away all 


368 


AFTER THE VENGEANCE 


remorse from d’Aviella’s heart; he only sav/ a 
guilty wife in the unfortunate victim. 

“You are weeping because of your crime!” he 
said advancing to where she lay. 

“My crime!” repeated Clotlide, not under- 
standing. • 

“Yes, your crime, infamous woman!” 

“Oh! my God!” said the marchioness in a state 
of stupor gazing at her husband with an expression 
of pity and terror. 

“What crime.?” she added, surprised beyond all 
measure. 

“Don’t pretend innocence. I know everything.” 

“But what.?” 

“You have deceived me!” 

“Sanchez!” 

“You have deceived me. I know it. I saw you.” 

“Sanchez, try to recover your senses, I beg of 
you. You have lost your reason; what do you 
mean by this frightful joking.? What horrible trial 
do you wish to submit me to.? I implore you, 
speak.” 

“I have told you all. But, I have avenged my- 
self,” and advancing naarer, he looked at Clotilde 
with such a threatening expression that she 
felt faint with helpless terror. 


AFTER THE VENGEANCE 


369 


Overcoming her emotion she continued: 
“Sanchez, I love you, and I have never loved 
anyone but you, I swear it. You accuse me of the 
most odious crime a woman can commit, and if 
I deign to defend myself, it is because I love you 
with all my strength. I have deceived you, you 
say.^ Look at me, and tell me if I have the face 
of a wife false to her vows.^^ 

As she said these words, she seized the marquis’ 
hand and leading him towards the mirror placed 
herself so that the light fell directly on her features. 
The innocent protestation of her face overcame 
Sanchez, already half convinced by the truthful 
and noble manner in which Clotilde pronounced 
her defense. All his love was re -awakened, and 
with a sudden movement, he drew her to his arms, 
but just as he was about to press his lips to Clo- 
tilde’s, he suddenly pushed her away from him 
violently, as he cried out in despair: 

“But I saw, I heard all, I tell you.” 

This declaration, which he repeated for the 
second time, renewed Clotilde’s anguish, causing 
her, as it did, to doubt her husband’s sanity. She 
looked at him carefully, and the unhappy, but calm 
and convinced expression of Sanchez’ face, proved 
to her that he had all his gepses about him. 


370 


AFTER THE VENGEANCE 


“Explain yourself; I do not understand what 
you mean. Accuse me in plain language. I will 
prove my innocence to you.” 

“You really wish me to speak?” 

“I insist upon it, yes; speak.” 

“You met Monsieur de Maurange; you went to 
him, and there, wretched woman, while concealed 
in an adjoining room, I witnessed this scene, you 
told him thatiyou loved him!” 

“IP” 

“Yes, you!” 

“But when?” 

“The night of Madame de Pardieux’s last ball.” 

“Where.?” 

“I do not know; but I saw you, that I can 
swear.” 

The tone of conviction in which the marquis 
spoke, left no hope in Clotilde’s mind of being 
able to convince him of his fatal error. 

She sank into a chair feeling perfectly helpless, 
and despairing. Sanchez conceived this- attitude 
to be an avowal of guilt. 

“Oh! you infamous woman,” he muttered 
hoarsely. 

“My God! he believes it!” wringing her hands in 
^gony. 


AFTER THE VENGEANCE 


371 


“You will not even confess, wretched woman!” 

“Listen to me,” said the marchioness rising with 
an air of despairing energy; “by the soul of my 
dead mother, I swear to you that I do not know 
what you are speaking about. I have never even 
seen Monsieur de Maurange, except in Madame de 
Pardieux’s house, and the night you accuse me of 
having gone to meet him, I, your wife, who loves 
you, I was here in my own room, and under no 
other roof.” 

“Enough,” interrupted Sanchez. 

“Yet one thing more!” 

“Another lie, or false oath — it is useless!” 

“In mercy! in pity! there is some inexplicable 
mystery in this which we will discover one day; 
jealousy has misled you; do not listen to its per- 
nicious voice, think of our past happiness. I, 
deceive you, just think of it, is it possible.?” 

Even as she spoke, Clotilde had dropped on her 
knees, and vainly tried to seize one of her hus- 
band’s hands. 

Leave me !” 

“Well then, kill me, if you believe me guilty.” 

A pale smile passed over the marquis’ lips. 

“Kill you,” he exclaimed, “kill you!” 

“Yes, I prefer death to your undeserved scorn.” 


24B 


372 


AFTER THE VENGEANCE 


“Be content, it will come.” And Sanchez hur- 
ried out of the room after making this terrible 
speech. 

For three days, he left the chateau at daybreak, 
still in search of the house to which Schiba and 
the bahis had conducted him; but even while he 
persisted in his efforts, he acknowledged to himself 
the uselessness of his quest. He had never lifted 
the bandage from his eyes until the moment he 
had seen George at Clotilde’s feet, and from that 
instant until he found himself lying extended at 
his own gate, he remembered nothing. 

After the violent scene we have just described, 
Clotilde had never been able to leave her own 
room. 

After forty-eight hours of fever, she had recov- 
ered her ordinary composure, and surmounting all 
the natural scruples of an unjustly accused wife, 
she wrote a most touching and eloquently tender 
letter to Sanchez. This had more effect on the 
marquis than her words, but still he never came 
near her. Then, with a persistence worthy of a 
saint, sacrificing everything for the one hope of re- 
gaining his love, Clotilde sent a letter daily to 
Sanchez. 

The exquisite tact displayed by the young 


AFTER THE VENGEANCE 


373 


woman in this correspondence, the persuasive 
eloquence of her simple and touching words, 
brought the marquis little by little, to the point of 
asking himself if he had not been the dupe of some 
infernal and deep laid plot. He even began to 
curse his vengeance and to hope it would not be 
followed by any serious consequences. 

Clotilde’s health had not declined in any notice- 
able way. Twenty times, the marquis had secretly 
followed her in her lonely wanderings in the park. 
The noble carriage of his young wife in her re- 
signed grief, pleaded her cause eloquently. All 
these incidents began to tell on Sanchez; but when 
listening only to the promptings of his old love, he 
felt as if impelled to return to her, a horrible 
anxiety withheld him. 

Could Clotilde escape from the deadly wound 
inflicted through Magnet’s bite.^ Or might she, 
at any moment, be attacked by the symptoms 
of hydrophobia .J* This was what the marquis 
asked himself unceasingly, imploring God to work 
a miracle, and save her he had loved, and whom, 
in spite of his suspicions, he felt he still idolized. 

One morning, tortured by this horrible thought, 
he went to a celebrated physician in Amboise called 
Caron. The man of science revived his courage 


374 


AFTER THE VENGEANCE 


by telling him that any person bitten, would at 
the expiration of a month, or five weeks, have 
almost corhplete certainty of having escaped from 
the dreaded evil. The marquis, who had asked 
for this information on the pretext of wishing to 
elucidate an interesting question, and one on which 
he purposed writing an article, left the doctor in 
high spirits. But his spirits were not fated to last 
long. On entering the chateau, Madame Firmin 
informed him that the marchioness had been sud- 
denly taken ill, that she could not succeed in calm- 
ing her, and that she had not been able to leave 
her bed since morning. 

Sanchez first impulse at this news, was to rush 
to Clotilde, but he felt he had not the courage. 
He went to his own room and locked himself in. 
Then commenced for him the most frightful tor- 
ture a man can endure. The most acute mental 
agony assailed him. He never for one instant 
doubted that his wife’s illness was his own devil’s 
work, and terror paralyzed his limbs, while the 
perspiration stood in drops on his forehead. He 
fell, crushed with remorse into a chair, listening 
to what was taking place in the room above him 
with painful intensity. 

For three hours he remained in this position. 


AFTER THE VENGEANCE 


375 


motionless, his mind alternating between the hope 
that he was deceiving himself, and the fear that he 
had divined but too correctly. Then, recalling all 
his wrongs, he paced the room fiercely, repeating 
to himself a thousand times, that the chastisement 
was equalled by the crime, and that God ought to 
absolve him from an}^ g^hlt. He had so loved her! 
He had given her all, his heart, his soul, his life, 
and she had basely betrayed him, adding lies and 
cowardly, vile protestations to the odious crime 
she had committed. This woman, in spite of her 
innocent, saint-like look, was as low as the lowest 
of women, a reptile for whom any punishment was 
too slight. Thus he reasoned to himself, exciting 
his feelings of hatred so as to avoid thinking of 
what was taking place so near him. 

Midnight struck. With the last stroke of the 
clock, a terrible cry, and strident yell as of some 
one in the agony of being strangled, echoed through 
the chateau. Sanchez stood rooted to the spot in 
terror, and glared wildly round the room. A 
second cry quickly followed. His hair seemed to 
stand erect on his head with horror, and all life 
within him seemed to collapse. 

“I must fly; she is dying,” and seizing a poignard 
which lay near him, to defend himself against the 


376 


AFTER THE VENGEANCE 


imaginary enemies created by his terror, he was 
about to escape from his room, when a window 
pane was suddenly smashed violently. A hand 
was passed through the opening, the sash window 
which reached down to the ground was opened, 
and a woman, wearing a mask, appeared, her figure 
plainly defined against the darkness of the night. 

“The magician exclaimed the marquis recog- 
nizing the mysterious woman of the maskecfball at 
the Baroness de Luneville’s.” 

“Listen to what I have to say,” said the masked 
woman to Sanchez. “Your wife is dying the most 
horrible of deaths; it is you who have killed her, 
because you thought her false, and yet your crime 
horrifies and terrifies you.” 

“It is true. Well?” 

“Your wife is innocent!” 

“Ah! that is impossible! You lie!” cried the 
marquis wildly. 

“Not so. She was carried away from here under 
the influence of a narcotic, and when you heard 
her tell George de Maurange that she loved him, 
she was in a mesmeric sleep.” 

“Great God! What infamous villains!” 

“And do you, Sanchez, Sanchez the murderer, 
know who has done all this to avenge herself? It 


AFTER THE VENGEANCE 


377 


was I!” added the magician, removing her mask. 
“Do you not recognize me.^^” 

Sanchez hesitated a moment, then after having 
gazed steadfastly at the unknown: 

“Ah! Lakhmi!” he gasped, and gave a terrible 
cry. 

And he rushed madly at her, with raised 
poignard. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


LIVING TO KILL. 

How had the slave of former days, she who had 
loved the unfortunate Dominique, escaped death, 
and become the rich and powerful unknown, having 
under her command Schiba and the bahis? Let 
us explain. 

During the siege of Seringabatatn, an English 

# 

major. Sir Edgar Sampton, eloped with the wife 
of one of the principal officers of the Sultan of 
Mj^-sore, Tipoo Sahib, and in spite of the continu- 
ous and unremitting search of Baxio, Sahib, the 
officer in question, and of his faithful khansaman, 
Schiba, the beautiful Nahoua and her lover suc- 
ceeded in escaping his just anger. 

From the moment that Baxio-Sahib became con- 
vinced that Nahoua and Sir Edgar were not at 
Seringabatam, he, at Schiba’s suggestion, who was 
as desirous of punishing the major as his master, 
left Mysore, with the object of finding and punish- 
ing the betrayer of Nahoua. 

378 


LIVING TO KILL 


379 


Schiba encouraged Baxio’s anger and hatred to 
the best of his power, for he himself had secretly, 
but hopelessly, loved the beautiful Nahoua. 

Schiba was a psylla^ that is to say, a snake 
charmer, versed in all the medical and occult 
sciences, whose life Nahoua had saved and after- 
wards taken into her service. 

So he had readily consented to follow Baxio in 
his pursuit for vengeance, but not before he had 
made him solemnly promise to forgive Nahoua. 

Persuaded that the fugitives had taken the road 
to Calcutta, it was to this town they first went. 
But in spite of their expeditious traveling and their 
promptitude in leaving Seringabatam, on arriving 
at the capital of Bengal, they learned that the 
major, after sending in his resignation to the gov- 
ernor general, had left the evening before for 
England. • 

Eight days later, Baxio and Schiba sailed for 
Europe. On arriving in London, no trace could 
be discovered of the fugitives, and they searched 
for them in vain. Then, for ten long years, they 
traveled through Great Britain, without allowing 
themselves to be discouraged, but without being 
able to find the slightest trace of those they were 
in search of. 


380 


LIVING TO KILL 


At last they heard, that some years before, the 
major having realised all his fortune, had left Eng- 
land, and that since that date, he had never been 
seen in his native country. 

They then visited, successively, France, Switzer- 
land, Italy, Austria, Spain and Belgium, but in 
vain. Year followed year, and neither Baxio nor 
Schiba lost courage. They had solemnly sworn to 
kill the major, and lived only with that purpose in 
view’. 

At the expiration of twenty-five years, tired of 
the fruitlessness of the search, they returned to 
Calcutta. Baxio purchased a palace there, had it 
sumptuously furnished and shut himself in it, sad 
and solitary, like a wounded tiger. Again several 
years passed, during which neither the old chief 
nor Schiba permitted one day to pass without 
offering up prayers to Brahma to aid them in dis- 
covering their enemy. 

Although they acknowledged the obstacles in 
their way to be all but insurmountable, yet their 
faith in the accomplishment of their vengeance was 
so great that they still continued to hope. 

One morning, Schiba entered in a state of 
breathless excitement. Chance had placed within 
their reach, what they had been so ardently trying 


LIVING TO KILL 


381 


to discover for nearly half a century. He had 
encontered an old English ship captain on the 
wharf, with whom he had entered into conversa- 
tion. Among other subjects, they had discussed 
the siege of Seringabatam, and after a few words 
the Indian had learned that the man with whom 
he was conversing, had commanded the vessel on 
which Sir Edgar Sampton and Nahoua had sailed 
for Europe. The captain remembered the facts 
perfectly. Besides, Sir Edgar had traveled under 
his own name, and as to Nahoua, the old sailor 
himself had been so struck with her great beauty, 
that he was even now able to give Schiba an exact 
description of her features. 

“She was a most beautiful woman,” he said in 
conclusion, “and the major adored hei. I am 
certain that if they are still alive, they are as per- 
fectly happy as any couple can be in this world.” 

“And what makes you think that?” 

“The constancy of their love. I met them again 
five years after they made this passage with me.” 

“In England.?” 

“Oh ! no at the other end of the world, in Brazil, 
near Fernambone, where they were living.” 

This was all that Schiba wanted. This time, 
he knew the retreat of his enemy. He told Baxio 


382 


LIVING TO KILL 


of his discovery, and they immediately resolved to 
embark for Rio. The information furnished by 
the captain, turned out to be perfectly correct. 
After spending two years in England, Sir Edgar, 
who was perfectly happy withNahoua, had noticed 
with alarm that her health was declining. A 
celebrated physician whom he consulted, declared 
that a longer residence in the English climate 
would kill the young Indian. Sir Edgar at first 
thought of Italy; but the man of science declared 
that the climate was not warm enough for the 
beautiful girl, and soon after, the major had left 
for Brazil, where he had bought a large plantation. 
Exile from his own country did not frighten him; 
his country, his happiness, was Nahoua. 

When Baxio and Schiba landed at Rio, they had 
no difficulty in discovering Sir Edgar’s retreat. 
They left immediately for Fernambone and arrived 
at the major’s plantation. Everything was shut 
up. They asked a black where Sir Edgar was, and 
the latter replied: 

“He is dead.” 

“It cannot be!” cried Baxio with a yell of rage. 

“Dead!” echoed Schiba, standing as if rooted to 
the ground. 

“Yes, he died eight days ago.” 


t 


LIVING TO KILL 


383 


“And his wife?” 

“She was buried a month ago.” 

“Where were they buried?” 

“I can show you their tomb.” 

An hour later, the black pointed out to the In- 
dians, a sumptuous mausoleum, on which they 
read the names of Sir Edgar Sampton and Nahoua. 
Then all Baxio’s energy seemed to vanish, and 
Schiba had great difficulty in sustaining him. 
They remained before the tomb until the night was 
far advanced, without being able to tear them- 
selves away from the spot which concealed their 
one hope they had had in life: the possibility of 
assuaging their thirst for vengeance. At last, the 
storm and rain which was descending in torrents, 
made them think of retraceing their steps. The 
lightning flashed across the heavens, illuminating 
their grave, dismayed figures. Not a word passed 
between them. Each was lost in thought., 

“My revenge is snatched from me,” at last mut- 
tered Baxio, with an indescribable accent of regret. 

Calm once more reigned around. Schiba leaned 
against the door of the mausoleum with head un- 
covered, trying to cool his fevered brow. He 
remained there a long time, looking absently at the 
landscape. Then, remounting their horses, they 


384 


LIVING TO KILL 


were proceeding homewards, with their attendants, 
when on crossing a ravine, a singular sight met 
their astonished gaze. 

By the side of a dead jaguar, was a young girl, 
whose right arm had been mangled by the ferocious 
beast, firmly bound to a tree. The khansaman 
rode forward, and dismounted from his horse. 
The young girl was not dead, but in a deep swoon. 

The Indian drew out his knife and cut the cords 
that bound the captive, then lifting her carefully, 
he had her transported on an improvised litter. 
The young Brazilian’s wound was horrible, but 
Schiba saw that by amputating the arm below the 
elbow, her life could be saved. Baxio agreed with 
him. 

When the wounded girl regained consciousness, 
she was lying on a soft bed in one of the principal 
hotels of Fernambone. The operation was over. 
A wild feeling of terror seemed to possess her, and 
incoherent sentences escaped her. The words: 
“Crime, vengeance, and the name Dominique, rose 
continually to her lips, followed by painful par- 
oxysms of excitement, that Schiba, with all his 
skill, found it difficult to soothe. Deeply inter- 
ested in their young charge, the old Indian imag- 
ined a world of suppositions regarding the sufferer 


LIVING TO KILL 


385 


whose fate chance had confided to their hands. 

Schiba was the most clear sighted. 

“Believe me, Sahib,” said he, “the frightful state 
of this poor child is the result of an attempt at 
murder. How or why has it been committed? 1 
cannot tell you; but where there is a crime, there 
ought to be a vengeance. Well, let us form a 
compact with this young girl, and let us swear to 
procure for her the supreme joy, that death, in 
striking Sir Edgar, has deprived us of.” 

This project awoke a new feeling of interest in 
Baxio’s life, who welcomed the suggestion with 
joy. Schiba redoubled his care, but the body 
alone of the wounded girl recovered. Her reason 
was weakened, and when they took their departure 
for Calcutta, the young girl was received in Baxio’s 
palace without having been able to offer them any 
explanation. 

The young Brazilian’s new surroundings grad- 
ually wrought a salutary change on her health, and 
six months after her arrival she was able to give a 
clear account of all that had happened to her 
deliverers. This recital is already known to my 
readers, for they must have recognized in the un- 
fortunate captive, Lakhmi, the slave. Baxio and 
Schiba shuddered from time to tiihe as she pro- 


386 


LIVING TO KILL 


ceeded in her sad, cruel history. When at last, 
worn out with fatigue and emotion, Lakhmi 
stopped, Baxio said to her: 

‘‘And what do you wish to do now.^’^ 

“Rejoin my poor Dominique in Heaven!’^ 

“Not so, my child. I also, have suffered and 
longed for death; but if you hate, it is your duty 
to live until satisfied hate kills you with joy. I 
have not been permitted to taste this infinite hap- 
piness; but I offer it to you. I have not many 
years to live. Consent to pass them with me as 
my daughter.” 

“Oh! master! what can I say.^ Your words 
confound me. To avenge Dominique, to make 
the marquis suffer for his cruelty towards me, yes, 
I acknowledge it, that would be unlooked for hap- 
piness!” 

“Swear not to leave me, and you will taste it, 
Lakhmi.” 

“I swear it, master, by the soul of Dominique.” 

“And nothing will make you forswear your 
vengeance.^” 

“Nothing, I will only live to accomplish it. Once 
my vengeance is accomplished, I will be ready to 
die.” 

“Very well then, from this day forth, my im- 


LIVING TO KILL 


387 


mense fortune is yours. Schiba, you are witness 
to our compact; you are younger than I am, and 
will survive me, and if, in spite of the desire for 
vengeance Lakhmi now feels, her resolution ever 
wavers, you will support her failing courage. ” 
“Yes, master, I swear it, and as a beginning, in 
spite of the distance which separates us, I will not 
lose sight of the Marquis d’Aviella, who hunts 
jaguars by offering young girls as a bait.’^ 




25E 


CHAPTER XXV. 


CONCLUSION. 

Baxio-Sahib died the same day that Sanchez 
and his mother left Brazil for the purpose of re- 
siding in France, after the death of the Marquis 
Alphonse d’Aviella. Baxio left a fortune of twenty 
millions of francs. During the six years which 
the young slave had lived under the old sepoy’s 
roof, both he and Schiba had combined their efforts 
in order to nourish an implacable feeling of hatred 
in the young Brazilian’s heart towards her lover’s 
murderer. 

Schiba heard of Sanchez departure for Fiance. 
Immediately after the last duties had been per- 
formed to the dead chief, attending "^he burning of 
his body on the funeral pyre, which, on the banks 
of the Ganges, serves for this pagan custom, * 
Lakhmi and Schiba left for France. 

And now let us resume our recital where we left 
it off, that is to say, when having recognized 
Lakhmi in the magician, Sanchez armed with his 
358 


CONCLUSION 


389 


poignard had rushed at her. Fie struck her with- 
out meeting any resistance, and then hastened to 
Clotilde’s room. When he arrived there, his 
young wife, the beautiful, unfortunate Clotilde, 
was no more. Madame Firmin, trembling and 
livid with terror, was on her knees, praying, near 
the bedside for the dead, while Gomez stood close 
at hand, with tears coursing down his bronzed 
cheeks. Sanchez gained his own room, wrote to 
his mother an account of all that had happened, 
also explaining the horrible tragedy to which his 
loved ClotiWe bad fallen a victim, and having 
offered up a short prayer to God, recommending 
to him his soul, he blew out his brains. 

Lakhmi, who had fallen in George de Maurange’s 
arms a few steps distant from the window, refused 
to leave the place, in spite of her extreme exhaus- 
tion caused by the hood which now flowed freely 
from the wound. From where she lay reclining on 
a bench, she could see plainly into the maquis’ 
room. She waited until the last, and when the 
pistol shot sounded, exclaimed: 

^‘At last! I have kept my oath!”^ 

An hour later, de Maurange rang at the Notary 
Dupuys door. 


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